So Long, Lonesome
by ketamine.methanol
Summary: High school dramatics and secret salvations that tie people together or break 'em apart. Tons of different pairings. Namely Style. Rated MA for future chapters. Harsh language & adult/sexual content. Hinted drug use & abuse.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I've never actually read a chapter-heavy fanfiction! Lol. Not for South Park anyway. This idea came to me kind of suddenly. The beginning was sort of based off of something between a few of my friends and I, in the humorous aspect of it all. XD But from there on it's obviously total fiction and the inside jokes end there.**

**Kind of a confusing start. I'm not even really that into Style, so I'm not really sure if I'm going to keep that the more canon pairing. Forgive me. I'll probably mix and match later on. But for now, enjoy, I guess. Feedback is greatly appreciated. I screened this for spelling and gramatical errors best I could, so... yeah. Onward!**

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"There's something _different _about you."

Kenny's eyes searched me as he slammed his locker door shut with a half-balled hand, blue eyes squinting and critical from within the mess of his blond hair around his tanned face. I got the jitters instantly, and I tried to turn away to wrench open the door to my own rusting metal storage space, but I could still feel the middlest McCormick's eyes burning into the back of my neck. Maybe at the heat rising up into it, because as I tugged the tattered green hat I'd managed to scavenge along to the future with my childhood memories in tow out of my locker and dropped it onto my head, he pawed at the left side of my chest with his curved palm to get me to face him.

"You didn't do anything to your hair. Make up? Nah," he cupped my face in his palms and I tried to bat him away as the rosy tint to my cheeks undoubtedly drained out my freckles.

"Fuck off, Kenny!"

And then it seemed to click in Kenny's face.

"You're glowing."

His expression took the shape of pure surprise, taking on the appearance of a twelve-year-old girl who had just been told that she was marrying one of the Jonas brothers.

"Oh my God. Kyle. Kyle," his voice rose slightly, and his eyes shot over my shoulder as my face descended into both palms with embarrassment as Kenny shouted over my shoulder.

"You GUYS! KYLE'S NOT A VIRGIN ANYMORE!"

I could feel my dignity seeping into the drain in the middle of the hall as my face turned an off-shade of crimson that likely was running a competition with the colour of my hair. Snickers broke out from a few girls passing in the hallway, but the booming, now baritone voice of Eric Cartman could be heard behind me. The tender age of seventeen and a long-running four years of foot ball had turned the fatass into an absolute monster; what he'd had going for him in gradeschool width-wise had shot up with him in height in our first year of highschool and it had been revealed that he really was just big-boned, because god damn, he was huge. A fucking brick wall if anything, and it was scary as hell.

"What!? Fucking Jew couldn't get ass if he tried, what the hell are you on, Kinneh? Aside from Welfare?"

"Aw fuck off Cartman. I'm serious. Lookit 'im, dude. He's fuckin' glowing. He totally got rammed."

Kenny thrust my heated form around and I looked up to find Cartman staring at me with obvious suspicion, eyes flipping between my face and Kenny's like it was April first instead of December the eighteenth or something. Stan stood beside him looking calm and collected with an unlit cigarette waiting impatiently in the corner of his mouth as he let the conversation blow over. Yesterday had been my little brother's eleventh birthday, and I had spent the later part of it losing my virginity. The worse part was that the kid knew about it, and wasn't going to let me go about it. _Ever_. The son of a bitch was too smart for his own god damned good. It would have been a sin to be given a normal little brother, I swear.

"You do look kinda shiny. But I didn't look like a fucking faggot Jew when I first got laid, Kahl."

"I'm still in shock you actually get any at all, Fatass."

"Doesn't matter how much I get any, Kahl, you still look like a fuckin' fairy-ass faggot deflowered Jewrat."

"Fuck off, Cartman! I do not!"

"Oh, you kind of do," Kenny intervened, draping his arms around my shoulders. He stood at a good six foot something, where I lingered just under that mark, almost even with Stan, who was still idling a bit behind Cartman. I tilted my head to send Kenny a glare for backing up Cartman's hit. He simply grinned in that typically warm-hearted Kenny way and nuzzled against my cheek, totally rivalling my faggotry in every sense. Even Cartman pulled a face at the gesture as Kenny rested his hands on my hips from behind.

"So who's the lucky lay, Broflovski?"

I fell silent, and I swear to god, I didn't mean to do it. It was just a nervous reflex, and I automatically blinked my eyes away from the dark-haired male still standing silently beside Cartman as I look at him accidentally in time to catch him picking lazily at the top of his hand for whatever reason. The avoidance gave me dead away though, and Kenny's shriek of laughter almost deafened me. I flinched away as he threw his hands back from me in disbelief, staring between me and Stan, both of us by that point refusing to look at eachother at all. Cartman just gaped like his girlfriend just landed him a swift kick to the balls after he proposed to her or something.

"_Stan_? You and Stan are - holy shit! I knew it! That's twenty fuckin' dollars on my plate from you, Cartman!" Kenny's laughter drew attention from other people in the hallways, but they all looked on in more confusion or anything. Kenny's sanity was often questioned as it is, being that his frequent dying has sent him a bit over the edge from the ongoing years, but this laughter thing is entirely typical. He was killing himself as he leaned against the lockers and Cartman cussed a blue streak, punching his own. I covered my cheeks in embarrassment, but I felt an arm slide around me anyway, and Stan's mouth presses up against my cheek in a mirror to the way it had been in secret for the last month, and instantly, I felt better.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh boy. Things are getting a bit more wraunchy. lol. I'm sorry, I make Kyle such a dog. But at least he's kind of funny about it? Oh well. Enjoy~**

**Oh also, in my last authors note, I meant *written, not READ no chapter-heavy fanfiction. (_ _'') I'm a tart, I'm sorry.**

**------**

Stanley Marsh has been my super best friend since forever. Now he's my boyfriend, I suppose you could say. Eric Cartman has been the bane of my existence since before we were born, and he pisses me off so much that I've legitimately tried to kill him on multiple occasions. Butters was kind of the spare tire to our acid trip tyedye minivan, but was all had a careful appreciation for him in our group, even when he started becoming a full-time tranny somewhere around the end of eighth grade. He's probably a better looking girl than most of the girls in our highschool, and that's almost a painful thing to admit to yourself. He knows how to pack a fake bra, anyway, that's for sure. Sometimes seeing guys gawk Marjorine in the hallways even makes him laugh, but that catty little smile he gets when it happens even makes me tingle sometimes.

Kenny, though - Kenny has been my best friend. The _bestest_ friend that you could ever ask for. If there's something to do with anyone, he's the first to know. Some time when we were twelve him and Bebe Stevens took this to their highest power and became the gossip duo of the school. When I came out, though, I came out to Kenny before anyone else. When I needed help involving sex and relationships, Kenny was my number one man. Why? Mostly because he's open to just about anything. I probably give the second-best head in the entire school because of that kid. First best to Kenny, because he is obviously first best to everyone else. I'm pretty sure even a skin headed lesbian would drop her panties for that kid.

He just knows what the fuck he's doing.

That's just what we were though. Best friends. He came to my house when his father was playing beat-the-kids, when he needed an escape, when he needed to be bandaged up from a long night of god knows what. I had no place to keep him from the adrenaline play that he constantly strived for; bearing in mind, this is a kid who will jump off of the side of a cliff for fun, with the guarantee he'll die right away at the bottom. Kenny's established with me about five million times how much he hates pain. But the thrill of dying as many times as you want has yet to get old, apparently. We've all lost count in our near eighteen years of existence, I think; even he doesn't keep track anymore. He just remember the best ones and retells them on a constant basis to anyone willing to listen, which is usually me, because outside of humping chicks in clubs and seeing how risky he can get selling his ass off on the streets for any kind of new drug, he spends perpetual amounts of time with his number one Jew.

We have a different kind of love. That friend love that you get in storybooks where you can have naked wet towel wars and not think anything of it. Well, I wouldn't; Kenny's ready to nail anything that moves as long as it can scream his name in the end of it all. I never let him get that far with me, though - hence his shock in the hallway an hour earlier.

As I stare at the angelic-looking immortal perched on his lab stool beside me looking optimally bored, he plays with the twenty dollar bill that Cartman had forked over to him at the end of lunch for the bet they'd been running that apparently the wall of a brunette had lost. He's looking so childish and happy that it's kind of hard to believe that this is the kid who's slamming back a twenty-sixer a night on weekends at the underground raves that sometimes we hit up in Denver. With absent-minded reminiscence, however, I find myself daydreaming about my previous night instead of the blond beside me.

I wasn't really sure how it happened. Ike's birthday party had been long and uneventful, mostly because it was just with family instead of with friends. Ike doesn't have a lot of friends and that's not big surprise; like I said, the kids way too damn smart for his own good, and it gets him into fights. The kid's eleven years old and in the god damn ninth grade, for God's sake. I'm in my senior year of highschool with my eleven year old brother. Given, I'm pretty smart myself, but I actually have to sit down and study; Ike picks something up and it's like, toasted into his little brain the moment he lays eyes on it. He can recite shakespeare on demand.

But Ike's intelligence is straying far from my story here. It's about me, right? Right. You go, Kyle. You have your own fucking autobiography.

Ike was finally tucked into bed around ten stuffed with cake and with his piggy bank exploding, and I was laying in bed boredly flipping through channels with [i]To Kill A Mockingbird[/i] abandoned beside me on my side table. It's late and all the porn is starting up on all the wrong channels and I'm like, trying to put my head in the game for bed, but being seventeen and male makes that really difficult, and I started to take care of my problem under the covers after a while with a pair of headphones on and Chopin playing on them for whatever reason.

Some time passed and I was on my stomach with my ass in the air, the epitome of the _face down, ass up_ rule going on, and no second party to help me out. Not that I was caring, I mean, Moses, I know how to touch myself better than anyone, right? I was getting gutsy and I started passing the time with a few digits and a bottle of KY, just trying to focus. The music was relaxing despite my excitement and I was nibbling into my own pillow to strangle any kind of moan or anything that might try to let loose, when I felt a hand on my hip and the bed sinking slightly.

I screamed like a little girl, but thank god Stan had the sense to both clap his hand over my mouth and catch my flailing foot at the same time before I managed to kick his fucking head across the room. He stared at me for a long moment and then I realized that I was sitting there with one leg up in his grasp and lube dripping out of my ass and I quietly stifled a small scream again, pulling my blanket up to cover my body self-consciously. My eyes pried at him to tell me what the fuck he was doing there as the headphones slipped around my shoulders, making Chopin's _Fantasie Impromptu_ a dull whisper in the background.

"_To Kill a Mockingbird_."

I stared at him for a prolonged minute before I glanced at my book, and back at his face, before I realized what the fuck he's talking about as I flickered my eyes hastily from the clock that now reads eleven and at him again. "Stan you fucking asshole, you were supposed to be here at eight for that, dude! I'm not going to help you with your chapter questions _now_!"

The flush in my cheeks hardly receded as he pushed me back against the bedsheets and started kissing me like the two lines of dialogue we had just made hadn't even passed between us. Next thing I knew his hands were snaking under my sheet to start back up what I'd failed to finish with his intrusion, and I wrapped my legs around his waist as I peeled off his v-neck and -

"Kyle."

- started the process of undoing his pants -

"_Kyle_."

- and took a hold of his hard-on in my hand and -

"Kyle motherfucking Broflovski, come back from whatever fantasy you're in and stop petting my leg before I jump your bones for the whole class to see."

I crack an eye with a miserable moan in the back of my throat and Kenny's looking at me with a catty little grin that suggests that I've been giving away what kind of daydream I've been having. I peer around anxiously and no one else in the class seems to have noticed as our chemistry teacher continues her monotony at the front of the room, looking as unamused as her students are. I glance back at Kenny and he's all over me, sliding a hand between my thighs like some kind of horny playboy bunny and causing me to jump up, cracking my head off of a low-hanging lamp with a hiss. He snorts into his hands as he leans over and gives me a firm smack on the ass, to which I flinch and twitch my eye due to its tenderness to the previous evening.

"Fuck, Kyle, what the hell were you dreaming up? You're totally pitching one." Kenny's looking at me like a lion admiring breakfast. I roll my eyes and stare at him as I slide both arms between my legs self-consciously with a groan and thud my forehead back down on our lab bench, and he just continues to smirk as I raise my hand. The teacher sighs with irritation, turning to me.

"Yes, Mr Broflovski?"

"I'm going to the restroom."

Kenny gives me a disheartened look, as though he had been counting on my asking him to blow me from under the table or something, but I give him a swift roll of my eyes once more and he softens up a bit as I take my leave.

After checking each stall to ensure the lavatory's entirely empty, I pick out the last stall and happily continue where I left off.

Stan was naked and on top of me and only a sheet and his hand separated us from getting the full view of our anatomy. Not that we hadn't seen eachother naked before, we just hadn't seen eachother naked with this goal and mindset in both of our heads. He finally slid the sheet down and I could feel myself getting redder than I had this morning when Kenny had so kindly announced to the entire hallway about my popped cherry. Stan's hands were going literally everywhere and I swear to god, I'd never been so hot in my entire fucking life. Even now, jacking off to it in a bathroom stall with my head back against the wall and my feet up against the stall door, though it does feel kind of kinky, and very risque`. I feel like a schoolgirl in a cheap internet porno or something.

Needless to say, I suppose those months of sticking my fingers amongst other things up my ass paid off some, because Stan got right in there with ease and I was kind if impressed by the difference in feeling from anything else. He panted dirtily in my ear and it just got me all the more riled up and oh my god, the sting was overwhelming but honest to everything, I didn't even care, I was so into it. His teeth left adoring marks on my shoulders and neck and I could do little more than groan beneath him in ecstasy. I'm pretty sure his back is doing pretty tenderly today no thanks to my nails. The only thing I could think of half way through as he pounded my lights out in all the right ways was _dozens of chicks throw their panties into the Denver stadium during football games, but here I am getting my brains fucked out by the Captain of the South Park High School football team_.

Yeah. I'm thinking I'm the luckiest guy alive. Don't you?

I lift my hand to examine the mess of my palm after coming about as hard as I did in my head, letting my shoes squeak against the stall door as my legs drop back down to the floor like gelatin. I lean my head back against the wall again as I try to catch my breath, zipping up with my clean hand and reaching for the toilet paper roll.

It's empty.

Mother _fucker_.

I stare at my hand before sighing throatily and raising it to my mouth with not much else as an option, feeling even more like a fag now than I did with a dick up my ass the night before.

**----**

**A/N2: Sorry things are moving kind of slowly and retardedly. Doesn't seem like much of a story but there will be more development later, I promise. (;**


	3. Chapter 3

The music's so loud, it's almost painful, but I'm too drunk to care and I'm clapping my hands together, totally hammered.

Kenny's dripping and grinding some junior like fucking Shakira or something, sinking down against the kid in a lapdance with the unrivalled talent of an exotic pole dancer as he rolls his hips and licks his lips feverishly. It's like fucking poetry or something to watch, and I can't stop staring, and neither can anyone else it seems. Everyone's so transfixed on the way Kenny's body is moving that no one's even hearing the music anymore.

I'm beginning to think there was more than just alcohol in the drinks going around tonight.

I'm panting and dehydrated and I stumble my way finally into Craig Tucker's kitchen, grabbing an empty cup off the counter and not giving a rat's ass who's it is as I sloppily slosh it full of water from the tap and slide down to the floor against the cupboards. Taking a long gulp, I take a moment to stare around the more or less empty kitchen, until my eyes fall on Stan. Or more like, Wendy Testabuger's ass as she crawls over him, trying to mack him. He's obviously trying to push her off and I can tell this, and I'm about to go help him out but Bebe beats me to the chase and yanks Wendy off by the hair and starts screaming at her about something. Before I know it I'm witnessing a full-fledged catfight and Stan's trying to carpet-crawl his way toward me across the tile floor, looking absolutely fucked, and I can't blame him, because I sure as hell do, too.

I hand him my water and he takes it gratefully as he leans against me, and we lay there for some time, nuzzling cheeks and touching arms. Our hands start to get more feverish because touching just feels so damn good tonight, even better than it usually does, and before we know it we're laughing in our own reserved cuddle-puddle on the kitchen floor while Wendy and Bebe go at it like cats at the kitchen entrance, screaming and slapping. We don't even hear them, we're too busy snuggling and kissing and nibbling and laughing and touching, and all of these things seem to finally catch the girls' attention as we descend into a deep lip-lock. Their jaws kind of drop slightly - I don't know this for sure but I can practically hear the wind in their mouths as they go totally silent. There's a quiet, excited "oh my god" from Bebe, and then erratic giggling from them both.

I zone everything out as I remain totally contained in my and Stan's world of endless kisses.

I really feel like I'm coming to terms with myself in that moment. Like everything is perfect and even the simple act of inhalation has superior meaning to it, and I'm so caught up suddenly in listening and feeling myself breath that I don't even mind when Stan gets up and staggers off out into the world, leaving me in the kitchen alone.

I'm not there alone gyrating there on the floor for long, though. Sooner or later there's hands on me and I let a soft purr rise in my throat, and there's lips on mine and I welcome them sliding my fingers through the blond hair of Kenny McCormick as he joins me on the cool tile. We kiss for a bit longer before letting up and I embrace him with all limbs and he does the same as we paw and preen at eachother with our noses and fingertips and lips.

"How do you feel, Kyle?"

"Really... I feel really good." I lean my cheek against the linoleum in order to cool down and Kenny does the same, and we stare at eachother for a long time, all smiles. He seems to absolutely glow at the moment and I'm overwhelmed by a sudden tremor, not liking the feeling as it glides in a haphazard quake through my body, but I feel relaxed again after my teeth chatter for a bit and Kenny just laughs sunnily like this is an expected thing.

"Kyle... you feel better than good, don't you." The statement makes me look up at him and I nod slowly, trying to find the words to describe it.

"Yeah, Kenny, it's like... pure... ec...stasy... oh my god! Kenny!"

I widen my eyes a bit as he starts to laugh and a bit of horror fills me as I paw dramatically at myself, realizing what the fuck the blond's done to this party before I get distracted touching my arms. Shit, my skin is so smooth I swear I'm not even touching it - wait, wait. Shaking myself out of my distraction I turn to Kenny and look at him with another shuddery breath. "Kenny, you know that you're not supposed to drink alcohol with that stuff!"

"Don't be a party pooper, Kyle. Everyone's fine. People have been coming in and out of here for water while you've been tripping balls on the floor. Everyone's safe and well-hydrated. Don't worry."

I stare at him, trying to remember seeing anyone, but I don't really recall it. I realize I don't even remember when Bebe and Wendy left, or really where the fuck Stan went, either. I'm suddenly really confused and I sit with my back against the cupboard. Kenny sits up and crawls up to me, kissing at me almost lovingly and I reluctantly return it, fading back into my content drug-induced stupor as our tongues start a vain battle between us. His arms are around me tightly as we press up against the cupboard and I lift my legs slightly to make him some room between them so we're both more comfortable.

His kissing eases off after a few moments but my eyelids are fluttering too much for me to really be able to tell why. I realize after a moment that Kenny's grown a second set of arms and I almost flip out as they slide up Kenny's shirt and reveal his stomach and chest to play with his nipples, but then I realized after I tilt my head up that it's just Craig, and he's stolen Kenny's mouth away from me for his own as he feels the other up from behind.

I hate Craig Tucker. Actually, the feeling is mutual. I hate him and he hates me, and we only stand sociable tolerance when Kenny's around because he's both our friend and it's just the man thing to do not to pick little bitch fights about it. He's also team mates in football with Stan. So, we hold the silence pact. Even when Kenny or Stan isn't there we tend to avoid eachother simply because we don't get along, and we've given up wasting our breath with insults. It just doesn't seem like it's worth it anymore. But I'm not even mad that Kenny's been stolen away from me by Craig. Hell, at this point in time, I wouldn't even mind kissing Craig Tucker; it's just the contact that counts... I feel as though I could spiritually bond with anyone at the moment. Hell, I could probably have a heart-to-heart with Cartman, it would just be a matter of finding him.

Instead, though, I watch them kiss, romanticizing it in my head beyond my control as Kenny's hands drop from around my waist to mirror what Craig's doing to him. I hitch my shoulders slightly, eyes sliding to a defused half-close as a soft moan murmurs in my throat. Next thing I know Kenny's back on me again, kissing my neck, my shoulders, holding me close and whispering "I love you, Kyle, I love you, I love you" over and over and over again, and I paw at his cheek with my palm until he trails off.

I stare up to see his expression twist with pleasure, and I realize after a moment that, holy shit, Craig is fucking Kenny right here in my lap. I have no room to object, the whole fucking thing just looks so damn pretty for some reason. At any other time I'm so sure that I would be utterly disgusted, but I'm so content right now I'm happy to just watch them screw as Kenny hisses and moans in my ear, sending my skin into an heated crawl.

Sound comes back to me suddenly and it hits me with a whoosh that steals my breath away as one of Kenny's twitching hands plow into my boxers and my eyes widen slightly, almost flinching. Somewhere in the background _Who's Your Daddy_ by Benny Bennassi is pounding away on the speakers, and all I can hear is that nasally female voice muttering and moaning over the bass. None of us particularly seem to care, I know I sure as hell don't. Sure I'm gay but I have a respect for any amount of dirty talking, and as I wrap my arms around Kenny's shoulders with Craig still pounding into him, I bite at his ear highly, and it seems to help get the blond off as he comes between my legs on the floor hard. My shoulders shift as I paw my hands over his back as he slouches against me with a full view of what Craig's doing to him from behind, and I feel my eyelashes flutter once more from a rush that has my head reeling.

My lips are seized. I don't even care who it is at this point, but I'm guessing it's Craig, because Kenny's descending against my stomach with his lips pursed in declining kisses that has my whole body twitching and my head totally lost. I move my mouth against this other person's, finally letting my eyelids open a crack to see.

It's Stan.

I'm not sure whether to be scared or overjoyed, considering Kenny is now blowing me and Craig seems to have vanished amongst the masses. All I care about is my two favourite people with me right now, totally nonchalant to the fact that this could be considered cheating because Stan's here now, and he's kissing me with fervour. Things are moving so quickly I can't even process what's happening and I keep forgetting who's with me and who's touching me - and then Kenny's sitting up licking his lips and leaning back on his palms, and Stan's hoisting me up while I suffer from the delightful dizzying effects of my orgasm.

Next thing I know I'm face-first in the sink getting thoroughly fucked against the counter, and I hardly care. Kenny laughs and whoops on the floor with his pants still caught around his knees and I'm clawing at the wall, literally in pure ecstasy. There's a voice in the background and I realize it's my own as it climbs higher and higher in the form of 'Stan, STAN, _STAN_' as my body goes out of control with pleasure.

I feel so fucking good--

Kenny's still laughing and rolling on the floor--

I can see Ike across the kitchen behind me in the window's reflection with a camcorder--

I--

Wait--

What... oh--

OH fuck--

OH my God, I--

I--


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N; Thanks everyone for your reviews, I really appreciate the feedback! This chapter's a little angsty... and kind of short. But I feel better cutting it off here. So yeah! Enjoy, or don't enjoy... depends how you look at it. :c**

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I grit my teeth as I review the previous night's footage in bed with a cold pack flopped over my head from my impending hangover, and Ike's handcuffed to my left wrist, locked under my arm in an uncomfortable headlock as he holds up the cam corder for review with his free hand.

I'm not so much outraged anymore as I am totally embarrassed. What irks me more is how Ike can sit here and watch this with me without any awkward acknowledgement, being that he's watching his older brother for the second time get blown by one of his best friends and then fucked over a sink by the other. I snap the camcorder's display shut and roll my eyes away from Ike's unamused expression before I look down at him. He may have the ultimate blackmail of my life on camera, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm six years older, almost a foot taller, and totally capable of kicking the crap out of my little brother at my own leisure if he steps too far out of line.

This is one of those times.

"How the fuck did you even get into that party, Ike?"

"It was a _highschool _party, Kyle! I'm _in highschool_."

"No. Ike," I look down at him and he's looking up at me angrily. "There is a difference between being _in_ highschool, and _attending _highschool. Just because you're there doesn't mean that you are part of that social ladder."

"Well I was at your stupid highschool party so I guess I god damn well am!"

"Ike!"

I'm sitting up now, and looking down at him, snatching the camcorder from him and thudding it on my side table as I stare down at him critically. "Do you realize what the hell this is like for me? Ike, you are WAY too fucking young for this shit, dude! I don't care if you're Einstein reborn, I'd like you to at least retain _some _of your innocence to make up for your freaky hyperadvanced brain."

"I'm not a kid, Kyle!"

"Yes, yes you are! You haven't even fucking hit puberty! You're a liable audition for the next chipmunks movie! You're _eleven_!"

Ike's just staring at me like I've betrayed him or something and I shake my head, looking away from him and at a picture of my three friends and I on my desk. Cartman's got a bowler hat and curly 'stache and inverted cross-eyes drawn on him in permanent marker but it doesn't make me snark like it usually does. I avert my eyes from him a while longer before he finally speaks up again.

"You don't understand what it's like for me, Kyle. I'm just trying to fit in! It's really hard, okay?"

I snap my head back at Ike and look at him, and he looks so crestfallen that I actually feel really bad. I stare at him with a frown as he takes in a shaky breath.

"I just figured I'd try to learn about that stuff s'more because, you know, it's not easy like in the books I normally read and stuff. Even if I look at it on the internet I don't really understand the feeling--"

"Ike, what the fuck? I thought I said you were too young! Shit, Ike, you are not fucking having sex on my watch if it fucking kills me!" I'm practically shrieking at him with our chained hand raised. "I thought you were straight?"

"I know I like girls," the fight's gone from him and I frown even more. "But, I don't know, all the older kids seem to be doing it, so I figured I'd try just to see if..."

I pull him into a one-armed hug and he falls silent in my lap, taking my hand with the other instead of wrapping an arm around me because he's still got one wrist chained to mine. I note this and sigh, pulling the key out of the back pocket of my pajamas and sticking it into the cuff on each of our wrists, tossing it into the drawer of my side table and nudging it shut with my toe. Ike's sniffling against my t-shirt and I pet his hair, holding him close.

"Homosexuality is not a trend, Ike. Sexuality in general isn't a _trend_. I don't have sex with Stan because it's the new thing to do. I do it because I love him."

"And what about Kenny?"

I stop and look down at him with a slowly rising eyebrow. "Kenny is... Kenny has a lot of issues, Ike. He does weird things because he needs some kind of release--"

"No, I mean, why'd you let Kenny blow you? Do you love Kenny, too?"

I stare down at him. He's so childish and innocent I almost feel sick having this discussion, but I figure it's better me than some counsellor at the highschool who's going to send him into therapy or something. I search my head for an answer as I stare at my side table clock absent-mindedly.

"I was not sober and sometimes alcohol makes you do things that you wouldn't normally do."

"Well you sure seemed to like it, eh?" The smirk on his face makes me scowl and I shove him off with a sigh. He slides off my bed and gives me a hug once more. "Thanks Kyle."

I roll my eyes before grinning a bit and hugging him tightly back, nuzzling my nose in his hair. "If you want to know anything just let me know, okay? Don't feel so out of place because your smart, Ike. I got picked on sometimes for being studious but I'm doing alright now, right?"

He nods a bit and I smile slightly, releasing him at last. He exits my room quietly and I watch him go, falling back against the covers and sighing as I gaze at the camcorder on my side stand.

My peace is short-lived as an erratic banging of my window nearly scares the living shit out of me.

I sit up in bed to meet the wide blue eyes looking in at me from within the confinement of an orange parka and I sigh, throwing my window open, just enough to accidentally throw Kenny off balance. I practically throw myself out the window to grab one of his flailing hands as he thuds against the shingles with a muffled cry and I pull him through the window before he can accidentally kill himself. I toss him to the floor gently before leaning away to close my window again, holding my hands under my arms as I shiver from the now frigid state of my room while he unzips his parka and kicks off his shoes.

I'm praying to god that that bump on my roof wasn't what caused his present state.

He's bruised and beaten and twitching like an animal in a cage, his nose bloody but thankfully straight and unbroken-looking. He stared up at me like a stray cat and I'm on him in a moment, stripping off the rest of his clothing to his boxers and getting him into my bed as I stumble around, looking for our personal first-aid kit.

I don't ask as he curls up on my bed, but there's a strange off-hue of blood and fluid running down his legs from under his boxers and I'm starting to feel sick as the reality sinks in to what's happened. I bite the inside of my cheek as I return to him and instead help him up from bed, taking him through my house quietly to the bathroom where I tug off his boxers without looking and locking the door behind us as I ease him into the bathtub, turning on the water to an acceptable temperature. He eases into the tub without a fight, and the water's already going pink from blood as he curls on his side and shudders, his hair oily from the likelihood of not getting washed in a few days. He stares at the wall in silence with his legs pulled up and a hand on his thigh.

I dig through the cupboard for a cloth and kneel down by the tub, stripping off my shirt to keep it dry as I lean over the tub to hand it to him. I'm glad for my intuition because he throws his arms around me in that moment and starts to sob in the most pitiful way I've ever seen. I kind of sit in shock before I wrap my arms around him, and the hand-shaped bruises on his thighs and hips, mingling with scratches from biting nails.

I feel nausea sweep through me as I pull him tighter to me and let him cry.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: What the hell is this? Actual plot? What? Yeah. I'm trying you guys, bear with me here. Thanks again everyone for comments and reviews, I hope that I don't bore you to death. This at least gave me a chance to be a bit more comical, but I still feel a little uncomfortable about how this chappy was written. Oh well.**

**Enjoy~**

---

"Kenny, you have to know."

"I don't know!"

His voice is shrill despite it's quiet tone and I can only figure Kenny is being honest with me on the topic of who's done this to him. His face is nuzzled into the plate of my chest and I'm feeling kind of motherly all of a sudden with my wee Kenneth curled up against my torso, still shivering like a leaf. He's a complete mess but he's doing remarkably better than he was earlier in the bath tub, and I've given him the option to spend the night with me. Naturally he's accepted my offer, but he's being very uncooperative in terms of answers to my questions.

We fall silent though, and I'm staring out my bedroom window with Kenny tucked under the covers with me, wondering who the hell it could have been. Kenny is convincing but our town is small and everyone knows everyone, leading me to believe he's lying. They - my friends - have always called me over-analytical. I suppose this is as good a time as any for them to be right as ever, because I realize I'm playing Sherlock Holmes here in the event of the rape of one of my best friends. I can't help myself, though; you'd fucking want revenge if it happened to one of _your_ best friends, right? I eye the blond as he rests with his lips pressed against my collarbone comfortably, and we continue to cuddle like two lost children in the woods as my bedroom door opens, and I tilt my head over my shoulder to stare at Stan. The spare keys I gave him are dangling from his left hand, but they disappear into his coat pocket.

"Stan? You didn't tell me you were coming over."

I realize after I say this that Stan looks pretty pissed, and I slowly sit up, revealing Kenny and myself in our boxers, and Stan's expression gets even darker. The promiscuity of the situation doesn't even cross my mind as I stare at him, expectant of answer.

"Maybe if you'd answered your phone in the last hour you'd have fuckin' known, Kyle. But since you're so busy with Kenny, I'll just fucking let myself out."

He's turning and the anger that flares in me has me whipping off the covers as he turns to leave, but my years of swimming has me across the room and on him in a second, both of us tumbling out into the hall in a full fledged fist fight that's a lot more restrained than it would normally be between any other two guys, probably because we're both secretly scared of hurting eachother.

Finally managing to come to a mutual restraint, however, we grapple with eachother's wrists and arms as my chest heaves, and he's glowering up at me with that jealousy that he's famous for. I grit my teeth before I finally rip my hands away from his and place a palm on either side of his head on the floor after shutting my bedroom door behind us. I've never been more happy in my life that my parents like to travel, because God would have really been on a mean streak if my mom had been home tonight.

"I'm not fucking cheating on you, Stan. Not with Kenny, not with anybody."

"Well it's fucking hard to think that, dude! What with the party, and now this--"

"Stan." The ice in my voice cancels out anything he might have thought to cut back with in argument as I lean down to mutter to him quietly. "Kenny was raped earlier, alright? Don't say anything to him, he's still pretty shaken up, but..."

I trail off as Stan sits up with me still straddled in his lap, and he looks more through me than at me. He looks almost confused, and it's so cute I could punch him for it, but he's so taken aback by the news that he's pinching the bridge of his nose the way he always has, and he's averting his eyes from me guiltily. I frown slowly as those pale dark blues look back at me, nothing like the vibrant icy hue of Kenny's. Stan's eyes are dark, cool, comforting. Kenny's are daunting, energetic, persuasive. My mind sways away from the eyes of my two closest friends and back onto the topic at hands as Stan finally comes to terms with what I've said; I swear, tackle football brings out retardation in people like no other sport.

"What the fuck... who!?"

"He says he doesn't know."

"That's impossible, dude, everyone knows everyone in this shit-ass town."

I'm not sure whether to be impressed that Stan's thinking at my mind level, or fearful that I've sunk to his level of retarded retardness.

"I... I know that, okay? I was thinking the same thing. But he seems to be really serious, Stan. I really think he doesn't know who it was."

"Was he high?"

I can't believe I hadn't thought to ask that yet, and he can tell by the look in my face. He lifts me along with him as he moves to stand 'til we're both on our feet and treading back into the room. Stan's about to lean over Ken and pop the question but I raise a hand to cut him off, and we both look at eachother after observing the slow, steady raise and fall of his chest that gives away that he's fallen asleep. I make the move to pull up my blue comforter over Kenny's shoulders to ensure his warmth, before stuffing my feet into my slippers and tugging on my ushanka post Stan helping me struggle into a sweater instead of out of it, for a change.

Downstairs the two of us sit at the kitchen table in silence while I thrust the kettle's cord into a socket, our cups of unmade hot chocolate sitting and ready on the counter. Staring at the island of white between us, I can't help but still feel uncomfortable about our earlier argument. He must be noticing this, because he speaks up.

"Look, Kyle... I'm sorry. We were all really fucked up last night and I guess I just thought about it a lot more today than I should have been."

I stare at him for a while before sighing as I descend into my arms, resting my face in the warm cavern there. "You have every right to be suspicious, but seriously. We were just really high. I barely remember the transition between the three sexual encounters I had."

"Three?" Stan's voice is dangerous but I just look at him.

"Craig decided to just fuck Kenny in my lap at some point before he started sucking me off, I don't really even know how that happened. Ike has it on camera if you want to watch, though," I remind him with a solid smirk. He looks uncertain, but I can tell by his expression that he's wondering what the footage of us doing it is like by the way his fingers start to rap against his thigh. Still gazing at him over my arms, though, my face drops it's mischievous ways and I become genuinely curious.

"Why _are_ you over here, anyway?"

He just gives me a look that competes with that of a puppy like he usually does. "I missed you."

I roll my eyes at him but finally fish my phone out of my sweater. Sure enough, his most recently sent text reads 'I miss you, I'm coming over'. I send him a smirk across the table.

"You're so fucking gay, Stan."

"You first, faggot."

He flinches as I kick him under the table and I stand up to unplug the kettle, pouring both of us our hot chocolate and bar-sliding him his mug, to which he lifts to his lips gratefully without so much as a bat of an eyelash to the heat of it. Both our heads turn as Ike walks into the kitchen, though, rubbing an eye in a little kid way that makes my stomach flip a bit. I can't get over how fucking cute he is sometimes, strictly in a brotherly way, of course - but really. He's the poster-child of innocence when he's not hacking your Blackberry for all your friends' phone numbers and sending them sleeping pictures of you for not taking him to the park like you promised.

"Can you guys not fuck in the hallway when I'm not trying to sleep? Jesus Christ. You're like rabbits."

I feel a chocolaty mist graze my cheek as Stan's hot chocolate sprays across the kitchen table, but I don't even bother to look, too busy staring at Ike.

"Ike, what the fuck? We weren't fucking in the hall!"

"Well you were noisy as hell!" He raises his arms melodramatically as a napkin starts pawing at my cheek, and I beat Stan's hand away and just look at him. He returns to his seat to wipe the table in slow circles, looking incredibly whipped as I turn back to Ike.

"You could have a little class and stop listening to me and Stan fuck, Ike!"

"You could have a little class and not moan like a sex-starved whore every time Stan's over for the night, Kyle!"

I raise my hand in preparation for another spray of Stan's hot chocolate, grabbing Ike by the hair with my other and launching him into the wall in the most brotherly of ways. He holds his nose, swearing like I'd been sure to teach him from the time of his adoption before I glare at him and point up the stairs. "Now shut the fuck up and get back to bed. And be fucking quiet, Kenny's sleeping. He's sick."

Ike just glares at me, and that look indicates that I'll be regretting throwing him into the wall tomorrow, but at the moment I don't care. He grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and is gone. I sigh before reclining back into my chair, letting my head thunk dully against the wall. I slide my eyes onto Stan, and he's staring at me. I raise an eyebrow as I stare back before finally losing whatever contest we were having and looking away in embarrassment. There's a rush of air through his nose as he stifles a laugh, and he gets up, leaning over the sink to rinse out his mug.

And then it hits me.

"Stan. The camera."

He turns and stares at me with prolonged confusion and I sigh.

"Kenny had to have been raped some time between when I left the party with Ike, and when he showed up at my house. He looked like he'd been through a lot."

Stan's eyes brighten with this lead and he nods. "Did Kenny say where he was taken?"

I shake my head. "He said he didn't know where he'd ended up by location, just that he was thrown on a bus home from Denver in a haze after everything."

"Denver? Jesus Christ. Well... what's the camera gonna show us?"

"Who he left with, because I looked for him to say goodbye before Ike and I finally took off home, and I couldn't find him."

We look at eachother and then at the stairs in unison. I'm the first to step forward, abandoning my hot chocolate on the table and sneaking up into my own room. I pause in my room to stare down at Kenny, watching him sleep for a moment. He looks dishevelled, even while in slumber, and there's tension in his face that hasn't eased away from his real life stresses. I dare to reach forward and brush a bit of his blond hair out of his eyes, and the way his eyelashes flutter and he winces away from me almost breaks my heart a little. I grab the camera and exit quietly downstairs.

Stan and I conference in my living room on the couch as I rewind the video. He pulls me into his lap and I don't protest, setting the camcorder up on my knees.

The scenes play out as we both recall it. Ike's got most of my escapades on camera, and a long segment of Kenny giving that junior the lapdance that really zoned me into how fucked up we all were. There's me and Stan touching like fools on the floor after he escapes Wendy and Bebe, and then he staggers off. I wonder where he honestly went in detail for the first time since the party, and look at him, but he shrugs. His guess is as good as mine.

After further recounts, finally I'm screaming at Ike about the camera, pulling up my fly. Kenny's on the ground in the corner, still howling like a hyena and Stan's got his arms around me as the camera shakes from Ike trying to stagger back from the angry red head that is me on screen. Stan's hands are sliding down my re-done-up pants as I continue to yell with his face buried in my neck from behind, and then finally I seem to give up on Ike and give into his affections, turning and starting to make out with him again feverishly.

Stan's and my eyes strain to follow what's going on as the camera shifts violently, and then suddenly on Ike. He's documenting the situation with skill, before he brightens up and skips over to Kenny, who is looking completely out of it through his laughter, his eyes rolling and sliding with the pleasurable feelings of the drugs as he nuzzles up against Ike's knees.

"Kenny, are you enjoying yourself?"

He nods up at Ike and makes a kissy face at him. At this point, on the couch, Stan and I are actually starting to laugh, because neither of us have ever seen Kenny so pleasantly fucked up in our lives. Back on the camera, he's trying to say something and Ike leans closer, petting his cheeks, to which he makes a kitten-like noise.

"Ike, I'm... I gotta leave sooooon."

Ike continues to pet him, leaning down a bit. "Maybe you should stay at Craig's, Kenny. You're pretty ... wooooo."

Stan and I look at eachother, totally able to imagine the kind of face Ike had been making at Kenny, but in reality, I'm really proud of Ike for trying to tell Kenny to stay in place, and I make a note to make it up to him for that tomorrow.

"Nuh, I gotta... gotta meet some'un at Shakey's..." He hiccoughs and laughs, licking Ike's hand, to which my brother makes a noise and backs off, letting Kenny happily slide to the floor with a crooked little grin.

Stan and I look at eachother.

Bingo.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Oh snap, a new chapter. A late chapter... sorry for keeping you guys waiting. It's kind of short, too. God I'm the worst.**

**Yeah this chapter makes like, no sense at all. Seriously, even though I know what's going to happen, it still miffs me. But whatevah; ah do what ah want. Thanks for all the feed-back you guys. It really makes my days to see that someone has something to say, good or bad! Just makes me strive to improve. **

**Enjoy.**

-----

"So let me get this straight."

Craig leans forward in his armchair in order to tap his cigarette in the ash tray a moment, before letting it linger between his middle and index finger. He eyes the ember with his usual monotony, and I know that this was a bad idea.

"Kenny comes into your room. He's bloody and beaten. He can barely walk. He is obviously raped, and he even tells you this..." he trails off, leaning back in his armchair again and propping his ankle up on his knee. I nod solemnly from the opposite couch; chattering from Tweek, Clyde and Token can be heard in the next room over the immaculate cussing of Thomas as he has a rather noisy tick, but the three of us ignore it.

"And, let me ask you this, Broflovski. When this happened - and Stan, when you came and saw what happened - _neither_ of you had the fucking resolve to _call the police_?"

My mouth opens slightly and Stan's wearing a daunted expression, and the two of us glance at each other. I close my mouth again slowly before sliding my eyes back on Craig and speaking.

"Dude, the police in this town... they don't do shit, dude. Have you seriously considered the cops that deal with us on a daily basis-"

"-No. Shut the FUCK up, Kyle. Have _YOU_ considered the fuckin' cops? Huh? OBVIOUSLY not, because if you did, there would be a case going around town trying to find the fucker who fucking did this!"

God damn, Craig is a scary mother fucker. I avoid him on a regular day, as I've said, but shit, with him in my face now, I know for a fact that he would probably kill me in a fight. Thankfully Stan's hand arrives on my chest now that the three of us are standing in a close proximity, as though holding me back from the fire of Craig's rage as he continues to shout at us.

"You fucking idiots wonder why the hell I always hated you guys! And this is fucking why! It's always taking shit into your own hands that is beyond your control!" Craig shakes his head, taking a rather violent pull on his cigarette and for once I'm at a loss of what to say, but Stan steps forward.

"Look, dude. We fuckin' care who the shit did this to Kenny but he dies all the god damned time - the cops don't care about him anymore. He's one of our best friends, he knows that they--"

"_Best friends_?" Craig laughs heartily, cutting Stan off and folding his arms with his cigarette held out to the slide. I hold back any images of him with a limp wrist and a purse with all my might. "Best fuckin' friends. That's a bigger joke than not going to the police, you guys! Some fuckin' friends you are. Fact of the matter is, this isn't a death, you douche bags. It's a rape. Tons of people will kill Kenny again and never another person. Shit, I've killed Kenny by accident once or twice. But guess what, you fucking faggots?" He splays his arms, barring unkept teeth at us with the pom poms of his navy hat bobbling.

"The freak off a leash who fucked your _best friend _isn't going to stop there. By not taking him in, you're not only the shittiest friends ever, you're as bad as the fucker who raped him for letting the shit head on the loose to fuck someone else in some back alleyway! God fuckin' knows who's next, specially if they're in this town!"

He outs his cigarette roughly in the ash tray, shaking his head, and I frown. It's all I can do at this point.

"Look, Craig, we see your point, alright? But we are looking for any other party footage to see who he left with. He says he doesn't know who it was, but we figure he had to have possibly known the person-"

"CRAIG!" Tweek comes blasting through the door in a pinwheeling mass of limbs, twitching at every angle, which is not at all out of the ordinary. "Token suggested that we - oh god, hello."

He's staring at me and Stan, and he's obviously picking up the mood's tension. His eyes are bloodshot but he hasn't been crying and thats obvious. He wipes a ring of white around his left nostril hastily and Stan and I raise our eyebrow, but don't say anything.

"I - oh, oh god - the pressure, okay - oh god - Jesus... um, I'll just leave you to talk - Jesus Christ I'm sorry -"

The door slams shut again and Craig rolls his eyes slightly before turning back to Stan and I.

"He didn't leave with anybody." Craig sneers at me and Stan takes a deep breath through his nose as he continues. "I smacked his ass goodbye when he left here alone. So he's probably telling you the truth. Now both of you faggots get the fuck out of my house before I beat the shit out of the both of you."

Stan's holding me back, I realize, a hand on each of my elbows as I stare down Craig with gritted teeth. I hate him so much. I swear, I hate him. I don't know how Kenny tolerates him, or how Stan can be team mates him. I don't understand anything anymore. Stan nods to him in a very guy-like way, though, and drags me out of the Tucker house, kicking a few beer cans out of the way that still have to be cleaned up from the party.

---

We exit the police station with me even more pissed off than before and Kenny wedged between us looking tired and sullen. I can't stop looking at him; I know they say this kind of thing has a deep effect on people but I'm just finding it really hard to understand. Kenny fucks people casually all the time; he's not a slut or a whore or anything, I'm just pretty sure he likes to do it. Or maybe he has a list or something to tackle for tapping every ass in the town; I couldn't tell you. We've been through what my relationship with Kenneth McCormick is like.

The blond head on my shoulder is hardly a comfort as I slide into the back seat of Stan's car with Kenny. Stan peers at me a moment from the front seat and I tilt my eyes at Ken before he nods a bit and buckles in. We do the same. The silence between us is hollowing me out and I have to say something, mostly because Kenny's story for the police had not extended past what he told me and Stan.

"Kenny, why didn't you tell anyone you went to Shakeys after the party?"

Kenny's eyes snap toward me and I meet them tiredly. He looks at me for a long time before his morning glories slide away out the window as we pull out of the police station. "I didn't think it was important."

"Ken, of course it's important. If you remember something this vital then there must be more, shouldn't there?"

"Kyle, I don't want to talk about this right now."

I press my lips together but I don't press it. As we pull up to my house and climb out together, despite the mood, all three of us quirk an eyebrow as we are met with the site of a pretty-looking thing standing by the door, long blond hair pulled over each shoulder in braids and big blue eyes dancing with their usual lack of wit.

"Golly, you guys.I thought you'd never get back."

We stare at the crossdresser for a prolonged time before I finally pluck up the energy to speak. "Butters, this is my house."

"Oh, gee, I know that, Kyle! I've been waitin' for you guys, I've got something for yas!"

He hands us an envelope, and it has my name written on it in careful handwriting. Maybe a girl's, I don't know. But I don't recognize it at all. Kenny stares between the rest of us with a perplexed look before staring down again as I flip the envelope and open it.

Four hundred dollars tips out into my palm, in twenties. I don't need to double-check, I can count the twenty bills as they land.

Stan and I gape, but not as hard as Kenny. Not surprising, he's probably never seen so much money in his life.

"What the fuck, Butters? Who the hell gave this to you?"

"I dunno, fellas! Found it on my doorstep just this mornin'!"

It's still hard to talk to Butters -- well, Marjorine - without getting totally confused. I mean, it's really distracting, being that he's a guy we've known since we were all toddlers strutting around in striped leotards and frilly skirts. His jacket is the same old baby blue one I've always known, though, and he rubs his palms on his stocking thighs as he shivers from the cold. "Well, I'm off I s'pose. Have a fine day, fellas!"

We all watch his ass as in astonishment as it sways in that skirt as he half-skips down the street, Stan included. It can't be helped.

"Wait, you guys."

Stan and I glance at Kenny, who's somehow obtained the empty envelope without our notice. How he does things like this is beyond me.

"There's something else."

We stare at him as he pulls out a small folded piece of paper that neither of us had been able to identify past the bills. Stan and I lean over his shoulder to read with him as he unfolds it with care.

_'This is why: because I owe everything to you.'_


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N; Whew. This is kind of a useless fluffly k2 chapter. It holds some significance for later but of course I'm not gonna tell you what out of this chapter is important. ;) Next chapter after this one, we make our way to shakeys... and maybe a bit more smut. So for now, enjoy some k2 cotton candy.**

**Enjoy~**

---

His death date had been scratched out some fifty times before finally the coroner had given up and just left it alone with no end date. I always wondered if maybe one day, there would even be an end date there some day. Where a piece of me hopes there wouldn't be, the way things are provoke me to believe that Kenny's life willbe more extensive than all of ours, whether in his control or not. He'll live to an old old age until his body is finally irreparable, until he doesn't heal and he doesn't come back from the dead due to having no physical body to come back to. So standing there with a hand full of sunflowers and daisies and a few carnations, I stare at the text on the headstone; _Kenneth J McCormick: Our Everlasting Love._

"You're still here? It's been two hours, Kyle. They've already cleared the road."

I turn, and the figure beside me gazes at his gravestone with an unimpressed look on his face. I glance at him a moment before setting the flowers down over the lot and straightening up again slowly. "You _would_ show up to your own funeral."

"Some funeral." His words are apathetic and monotonous, and I can't blame him. Not many people show up on these occasions anymore unless it's entirely serious. Today, it's just me. I feel kind of bad that he chose today of all days to come, where there was only one person to lay flowers down for him, but I guess it can't be helped. How'd I die? I don't remember this time."

I lick my teeth in quiet thought as Kenny leans his head against mine, being the taller of the two of us, and I rest mine against his right back. "A mail truck hit you dead on when you were crossing to the store this morning."

He nods, as though this is casual news, like hearing that little Sally just got accepted to college, and you're giving a polite nod because you seriously don't care. We continue standing together before we calculate that too much time for it really to be considered appropriate has passed, and we lean away from eachother, not feeling at all awkward regardless.

"So where is everybody?"

"Church." My reply is smooth, but it's honest. God forbid there be anyone aside from my family in this town who isn't Roman Catholic, but really. I'd take a Sunday morning at church over every Sunday morning alone for the rest of your life any day. Kenny nods again with the same nonchalance he had in regard to his death, before abruptly taking my hand and startling me out of my wits as he breaks into a run, yanking me across the grave yard.

We're running. I don't know where the fuck we're going or what the hell we're doing, but we're running, hand in hand, like stupid little kids despite almost being legal adults, and somewhere between vaulting over grave lots and almost killing ourselves stumbling through shrubberies and bushes, we're laughing, and it's the most relieving thing.

I realize after we've scaled a hill and are practically collapsing to the earth from loss of breath that he's leading me to his house, empty and vacant thanks to Mass, his mother being the type to put Ken's sister Karen in a blender on high before she misses a day of church. She's kind of an idiot, but I like Kenny's mom. She's really nice, and is potentially the only other person aside from me in the city that seems to give a shit when her son dies.

But I think we're past that.

Flopped together over the lump mattress in Kenny's room, he turns to me and elbows me in the side. "So, we never got to talk about it."

"About what?"

"You know, Kyle, fuck." He bites his tongue between his teeth to hump the air and I roll my eyes, raising my hand to my face to hide the fact that I'm going red. I can feel it, and he can see it. He smirks at me.

"It's good, Kenny."

"Good. That's it?"

"It's fucking amazing. There, you happy?"

He sits up and peers down at me with this crazy suspicious expression, before cupping my cheeks and searching mine. I blink up at him, slowly raising an eyebrow and glancing around the room for some clue as to what the fuck he's looking at, or maybe so he has a different angle of my expression so he can find what he needs. I don't know.

"You know, when you get all embarrassed, your freckles recede into your blush. It's like.. camoflauge."

I stare at him. "Kenny, are you stoned?"

"No, but I'd love to be. Care to join me?"

I don't have the time to interject as he's off of me in a second and digging through his mess of a room with his hands, and my eyes sink over him with a cooled expression. Sometimes I wonder what he does when he'd down under - if he's lonely. If he's tortured. If it feels like a million years even though it's only a couple of hours, or maybe if he just plays chess or some shit with whoever's around. There are certain things with Kenny that just make sense not to inquire about. Today, however, I'm feeling like breaching some boundaries as he stuffs some weed down in the little baby blue pipe that Cartman got him for his fifteenth birthday.

"Hey. When you die..." I trail off as he glances up at me, and my words die in my mouth. He's not looking upset or anything, but I can tell that I've already struck a nerve, and lose all courage to pursue my question. He stares at me a while longer, before seeming to understand that I'm unwilling to continue, before taking a hit off his pipe and handing it to me after he's finished, piping up.

"Hey. When I die..." It's my turn to look at him now, but he's looking genuinely curious, so I hold back any pissy insult as he leans back on his palms to think. "Why do you always look so sad when I'm gone? And why're you always so happy to see me after? You know I always come back, right?"

I stare at him a while longer before letting the bowl in my hands lower to my crossed legs, eyes tracing the shapes of the mattress in thought. "I always thought that would be obvious, dude."

"It's not, I'm curious." He takes the pipe from me to leave me to my thoughts as I try to find the words without sounding like a complete faggot. "I mean, you always visit my grave. You always freak out when I die around you and am alive long enough to see you panic. You risk your life pulling me in through your window when I'm about to take a fall..."

He trails off and we meet eyes in that moment as he blows a cloud of smoke to the side, and continues. "... Even though you know I'll reanimate within an hour."

My silence holds me, I can't figure out how the fuck I'm supposed to respond. How do you answer to something like that? Everyone else cares, too, right?

No, not right. If it had been Stan he would have watched Kenny plow into the ice below my window with little resolve, saying 'shit, Kenny killed himself', and expecting my follow up. Cartman woul dprobably be the one to push him out of the window in the first place. I struggled with my thoughts, running my hands over my heating cheeks. This weed is hitting me already, I don't know if it's just really good or if it's just because I'm a light weight or something like that. I don't get high a lot; it makes me feel stupid.

"Well... I dunno, Ken. It's just... the thing to do." I trail off, taking the bowl for the last time and taking a hit as I watch a fruit fly loom around the light in the ceiling. "I guess... I guess I just panic, Kenny. You're like, my fucking best friend, dude. If you died... man, I'd be lost without you."

"I die every day."

"You know what I mean." I give him a long look and then he takes the pipe, tapping it out in the ash tray and tossing it into his bedroom's mess again. We flop back against the covers together. "Like... what if one day you don't come back, dude? Sometimes you take a really long time."

"That's from bigger accidents, Kyle. It takes longer to respawn when there's nothing left of me. Like that time Eric used my ashes for chocolate milk."

I pull a face and he laughs, getting cuddly and gay like he usually does, wrapping an arm around my waist. I'm only hesitant to respond more now because of Stan's attitude from our last little sleep over. I'm wondering when the next time that'll be. Or, when the next time I'll see Stan will be - maybe that afternoon? Shit, I'm so stoned I barely know what's going on. I glance up finally and Kenny's got his eyes closed, looking genuinely peaceful in the first time ever since the few nights ago when he crawled in through my window. He lifts a hand to play with one of my curls blindly, and I sigh through my nose, opening my mouth to say something, but he interrupts.

"Tell me what you wanted to ask me."

"What?"

"Earlier. You said, when I die..." His blue eyes open and it's almost a jolt to see them so close and so suddenly. Shit, they're even more vibrant when high. I stop to laugh a little but he pokes me and I remember that he'd asked me something. I struggle - then it flies back into me and I go straight-faced, letting my eyes fall to a half-close.

"I wanted to know... what you do between the time you die and when you come back."

He stares up at me for a moment, eyes dull with a stoned haze to them before he cracks a half-smile and leans his forhead against mine, sliding his eyes shut again.

I stare at him for a while before I realize that he's not going to answer, and not another word passes between us before I leave an hour later to get home and study at my mother's demands.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Ahhh sorry for the long wait you guys. This chapter feels kind of awkward. It gets more awkward, oh, don't you worry. OTL I've been swamped with work, it's painful. But yeah, I try. Thanks for all of your feedback, hopefully this isn't too disarrayed for you or anything. Ack.**

**Enjoy (I hope)!**

---

The afternoon passes and before I know it I'm crawling out of a different bed for the second time that day, feeling pretty content and well-rested. Stan and I zip up and trek out to Shakeys, because like we guessed, the cops have turned up nothing from when we filed Kenny's report with him at the beginning of the week. Whatever. At least we tried, and stupid fucking Craig Tucker has to give us at least that credit, I guess.

The most recent owner is a bulky New Yorker named Joe, and he's lounging fatly on his barstool by the east side of the counter with a newspaper, chewing something slowly. I don't wanna know what it is.

"Hey, uh, can we ask you something?"

He glances at us as Stan speaks up, seeming completely apathetic to everything at the moment, but we're not daunted.

"Look, if this's about the mice ou'back--"

"No." I cut him off, face twisting with something of disgust. Stan looks kind of excited - no surprise there, he loves animals. "Last week, late at night, maybe like, four in the morning, he came here to meet someone. See, there was a crime involved and we wanted to enquire as to whether you perhaps had any kind of details on the indentity of the other person in order to find out who it was."

He's gawking at me, and I turn to Stan to find he is, too. Realizing that I'm talking in the presence of fuckwits despite one being a full grown adult, I sigh and roll my eyes, pulling out my wallet and pulling out a picture of Kenny, Stan and I. Cartman's been appropriately cut out of the side of the frame. I hold it out to Joe and point to Kenny in the photograph.

"This kid was here last weekend late at night, probably tanked out of his mind. We want to know if he met up with anyone here."

Joe crinkles his nose as he looks at Kenny, before shaking his head. "I see 'im heeyah awl the time. Y'know, gets the cheap meal Wednesday. But last weekend? Nah. Nevah sahw him. Coulda been one uh the days Jacey was heeyah, though. She works pwaht time, red hair, y'know. The frizz. I ain't got nothin for ya, though, kid. Sorry." His eyes turn back to his paper and I watch him with a sigh and sink of the shoulders, before looking at Stan, who's looking troubled. I realize after a moment that it's not because of Joe's disappointing answer, but because Wendy's walking by with Clyde Donovan outside.

Instantly, my mood changes, and I frown.

Can I be blamed? The Wendy-Stan extravaganza was something weighed out through the most complex numbers of our childhood. It was like a game of Heroin Hero at it's best, and Wendy's the dragon Stan was trying to catch. I like to believe I sated that addiction enough but I'm allowed to have my doubts. This is one of those times.

Thinking back to Wendy trying to mack him at the party adds to the boiling levels of my blood, but I say nothing, instead lacing my fingers around his forearm instead of his hand as I drag Stan out of Shakeys and back to my house.

There's no cars in the driveway and there's no little brother on the sofa watching the Discovery channel when we walk in. The house is empty, and I lift my head, ears searching for the familiar creak of a floorboard or the vacant sound of heavy breathing that indicates someone's hiding away somewhere. Nothing.

I look at Stan, who's looking at me already. I've been feigning not noticing his looks in Wendy's direction -

"It's not what you think, Kyle."

- but apparently I've been doing a bad job of it.

I frown slightly but kick off my sneakers and head for the kitchen, Stan behind me like a puppy waiting for the sneak of a meal. My fingers dance over the side of the counter without anything to do as I try to awkwardly occupy myself.

"It's too bad he doesn't know anything. I thought we really had a lead. I guess there's always that Jacey girl."

"Kyle."

I turn reluctantly with my back to the counter and cupboard doors, and Stan slides up to me, taxing my breath away with just his presence as he leans in. I hesitate before meeting him a third of the way, and we sink into our loving routine with a natural way that seems almost storybook-like to me on a regular day. I wonder what we look like, and then I realize that I know, from watching that tape over twice.

My shirt's being shimmied off and I lift my arms vertically to give him comfortable ease. He stuffs the cloth into my arms and I look up at him in confusion a moment before he swings me over his shoulder and we're on our way upstairs with my legs flailing in protest and my t-shirt abandoned on the staircase. He tosses me to the bed with a certain roughness and is on me in a minute, his hands exploring my sides as I go for his pant button, but he stops me, pulling my hands up above my head.

"Wait."

I stare up at him in disappointment before he abruptly leans down, suddenly taking a nipple between his teeth with his tongue flicking against the tip. He knows this drives me crazy and I moan, body arching from the shoulders to the back to the hips as I press my groin up against his with a certain hunger. He sucks my skin a bit more, leaving both nipples pink and perky before moving up and murmuring against my neck.

"Kyle?"

I hum out an inquisitive note as I lift my legs around his waist curiously, kissing his shoulder.

"Would you ever... you know. Put on a skirt for me?"

My head snaps to the side and I stare at Stan's head. I can see his nervousness in the way his shoulders are hitched. "Stan, what the fuck? I'm not a fucking chick."

"I know. But it'd be cute I think..."

"Stan, I'm not wearing girls' clothes for you. Not in bed, not ever."

No, just no. I don't think I could drop that kind of dignity. He's still nipping at my neck and shoulders but I lower my legs, knowing this isn't over.

"Why not?"

"_Because_, Stan. Seriously. Would you wear a skirt if I asked _you _to?"

He leans back now and stares at me seriously. "Well... if you really wanted me to. I don't really have the ass for it though."

This is stupid. I'm starting to lose this entirely. I don't know. I don't work well with things that don't make me comfortable. Is it so hard to just be a normal horny teenager? Why does clothing have to come into this? Why can't we do something like... like bondage? Like normal couples do. Even then I'd be nervous but at least I wouldn't be treated like a girl.

"Did you have to bring this up now?"

"Well, yeah, I mean. You know I still like girls, Kyle. It'd be cute to see you portray one."

I bite on my lip consciously. He knows how I feel about this - about the whole thing, really. Call it jealousy if you will, but I prefer to refer to it as paranoia. I can't be blamed, can I? I mean, at the start of our relationship I felt like I was the rebound in the first place. It's no shocker that he was still chasing after Wendy after all this time. And to think back to him with her at the party...

Fuck this. I sit up, as he sits back and swing my feet over the edge of the bed, sighing. Peer pressure isn't my thing. I'm stubborn. That metrosexual thing when we were kids probably should have been enough to give that away. Stan knows this cause he's looking disrupted and uncertain and isn't quite looking at me, like this is all my fault. I just roll my eyes and then finally flop back down against the covers, and Stan joins me with a sigh, looping an arm around my waist.

"You're really testing my masculinity, you know."

"Well I'm sure any dude would be putting on a dress, dude."

"I'm not doing it."

"Fine, it was just a suggestion."

I flip over on my side and stare at him. "If you want a girl, why don't you get with a girl?"

He stares at me and then flickers his eyes away. "You know the girl I wanted never wanted me, and I have you now anyway. What do I need someone else for?"

I know he doesn't mean it to sound that way but I still feel second-best, sliding my eyes down toward the pillow. I need Kenny - seriously. I need someone to talk to about this. But I don't want to bother Kenny on account of his healing from his rape, and I don't talk to Cartman willingly if I can help it.

I take in a tight breath and twitch my hips forward as I feel his hand intrude my pants, and he's kissing my neck all over from beside me. I move my hand down to protest but end up losing as he stuffs it away and pulls me closer by the hem of my jeans and kisses me with a heat that I can't fight back. The rest of my clothes are off in a few minute's time but he seems reluctant to lose his pants today. I don't care; it's kind of sexy when he unzips and starts to fuck me senseless, not caring that we're like a cheap one night stand, because I know he'll be in bed with me in the morning and back again for more tomorrow.

Cry after cry escapes me as he leaves me breathless, muttering through his teeth against my shoulder as he sinks them in, and it's all scratches and panting from here. It's familiar, it's so good, but there's a nervous inkling in the back of my mind that tells me something is wrong. I don't care.

I don't care.

I just want everything to work out right.

"I love you, Stan."

He presses his lips to mine with what I hope is his return to my words.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N; Oh god.**

**/hides/**

**this is the chapter I'm going to be killed for, possibly.**

**please don't hurt me, anyone. **

**kind of short.**

**enjoy. (I hope.)**

---

My head's pounding. It's a hangover, I'd know.

"Kyle?"

"Stan?"

"N... no. It's Kenny."

I slide an eye open. Sure enough, there's orange all over my vision. I feel like shit and the orange shifts to blond and blue as Kenny leans down into my face. I raise a hand, and he staggers back as I lean up to puke on cold tile.

Not even sure where I am. Not sure I care at the moment. Kenny's here, so I'm safe. There's music pounding away in the background still and its making me feel shittier. Kenny's voice creeps back into my ears. Literally, at a slow crawl, and I hold my head as I feel hands on my arms.

"... what happened, right?"

"No, Kenny. I don't... just... give me a minute."

"Maybe he'll forget."

My eyes slide slightly and I pick out a bulky figure in the doorway that is instantly recognizable as Cartman, and I instantly hurl again, narrowly avoiding throwing up on Kenny. He seems tired and hitches me up slightly, draping me over the edge of the toilet. It's at that point that I realize I'm laying in a bathtub, and my vision swims again as I grip the ceramic throne for support.

"Ferget wha?"

"Kyle, you're still pretty sloshed, just stay calm okay? I'm checking you out to make sure you're not dying."

If there's any worse thing Kenny can say to me, oh my God, that is it, because now I'm freaked the fuck out, head racing. What the fuck happened? Where am I? What's going on? Why am I dying?

"I'm dying?"

"No, you just... drank a lot, okay? Stay still."

More hands on me.

"Where's Stan?"

Silence.

"Why isn't he here?"

"He's outside Kyle, just chill."

"Oh fer Christ's sakes Kinny just tell the fuckin' Jew what happened so he can bleed his little heart out tomorrow and get over it."

"Shut up, Cartman!" Kenny voice raises splittingly against my ears and he's up and turning on Eric and I slide against the toilet seat again. One hand's on the wall for support. Another voice. "Is he alive?" Craig.

"Yeah, he's alive."

"Am I callin' an ambulance?"

"No, I think he's good man."

My nausea passes as a bottle of water's thrust into my hands and I'm forced to drink. Cartman's gone, I don't know what happened. But my visions coming back. So is my memory.

I was partying it up. Kenny and I had just shot tequila. Yeah. Something like that.

I stare up at the ceiling, letting the water settle in my stomach. "Tequila... that... then you took my hat."

"Yeah." Kenny sounds hollow and he rests a hand to my forehead. His hand... it's so cold, but maybe I'm just warm.

"Then... you put it in the tree. We went back inside."

"Yep..."

Then what happened? My eyes slide to Kenny's face as I stare at him for an extensive period of time. I want out of this bathtub so badly. My memory's still slipping back and forth. I realize I still don't have my ushanka as I grope my head like a stoned retarded kid.

Things slide into my head in a haphazardly manner.

Running with Kenny. I was running with Kenny. There was no hat. My hat was lost. We were trying to find it. Stumbling into the back yard laughing, Kenny held me back. He looked at me, and I could never forget that look. Why? Because he looked so horrified. And he tried to get me to go back. And then I pushed by to find Stan... screwing Wendy against a tree...

My stomach flips and my eyes slide away from Kenny as I lean over to grip the toilet with the intent of vomiting, but I simply resolve into half-drunken tears instead, slumping against the toilet seat. Drinking myself half to death would have seemed like the best idea to my intoxicated mind at that point, too. I'm not sure if I'm a hypocrite for being heartbroken or if Stan's used my actions from the last party as an excuse, even though it was hardly my fault.

Kenny pets my hair as I cry. I don't... I don't even know why I'm crying. Maybe it's the relationship I'm worried for, maybe it's being full out cheated on by my boyfriend.

But I'm pretty sure it's the betrayal of our super best friendship that I'm really crying about.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Longer chapter than normal. Uhhhh, not much to say here. Not sure if I want to bother including New Years in the next chapter, or if I should just move things along. I mean, this is pretty filler all in itself. Do you guys care for new years? Do you want filler? Am I moving too fast? Please, let me know. I need the feedback here.**

**Merry early Christmas, Happy Kwanzaa, and Happy Hanukkah. You'll probably have another update before New Years, though, if I have the time. I'll be working hard during the holidays. Anyway...**

**Enjoy~**

---

Days are going by so slow.

It's not even me doing the avoiding. It's not him, either. It's just both of us just not having anything to say.

I don't know if he's sorry. I never saw him after the party because Cartman of all people drove me and Kenny to his house. I don't think Cartman pities anything; I think he gets off to my pain.

I'm not paying attention, perched on the same lab stool that I was on cloud nine on a couple of weeks ago. Has it even been that long? I don't know anymore. I slide my eyes over Kenny, and he's picking at his nails, seeming unwilling to bother me. In some ways this is good, in others, this is torturous. To sit here in silence, with everyone looking at me.

That's what they've done the last few days. Look at me.

They look at anyone involved, really. They look at me, at Stan, at Kenny, at Cartman, even at Wendy. At Craig for the story. But there's no real story, is there? This thing happens typically. There's no good guy or bad guy, because it goes both ways. Does Kenny sucking me off count as cheating when I couldn't move and could barely remember? Probably. Some might say it's rape, but I probably wouldn't have fought him off on any other night.

I feel dirty, suddenly. Kind of like a whore. A dirty cheating whore.

I sink my face into my folded arms, wondering if Stan had every right.

The teacher continues squawking away. I hold my palms against my eyes, feeling weird and uncomfortable, before slowly sinking up from the table. Things have changed, drastically; I stare at Kenny but I'm not really understanding what's going on. My tongue is numb and I wonder if I'm still at the party. What am I doing? Am I supposed to be doing something?

"Kyle, are you alright?"

Kenny stares at me a moment before turning toward me and I can't do anything but stare, feeling dizzy and shaky. I tilt my head down, unable to make a coherent sentence and try to stand, only for my knees to buckle slightly as I stagger away from the lab bench to the floor in the middle of the isle, kids standing up all around me.

Fizzled talk. I keep trying to nibble my tongue to clear my head, but I can't feel anything. My stomach scrapes at me.

I haven't eaten for a while.

Oh. That's it.

I open my mouth, trying to talk as the teacher helps hoist me into a sitting position, but Kenny's already a step ahead of me with the left over orange juice I bought him at lunch; he's been broke the last few days with his parents apparently not having the money to give him lunches, which they have been since late October. He's spilling the contents into my mouth as carefully as he can with my slackened jaw. I try to close my mouth a bit to make it easier, and the sugar rushing into my system is already enlightening. I blink a few times slowly as Kenny holds both my cheeks.

"Dude, Clyde, go get another bottle of orange juice, hurry."

I blink a few times, coming back. I stare at Kenny's face with worry. "Low..."

"Yeah, Ky. You're low. Your blood sugar is like, 40. I did a check for you."

I stare at him, and then at my finger. Sure enough there's a fresh pinprick on my left index finger. I look up at Kenny dizzily. When the hell...

"I... my mouth..."

"Just stay still Ky, it's okay. But you're never skipping a god damned meal again."

I laugh weakly. "You're a super hero."

Kenny seems confused before he shakes his head and just smiles. I don't know what goes through his mind. The teacher's still half-holding me up and I lean away from her, almost toppling over again before managing to support myself on the side of our lab bench. She's gone in a moment and soon more juice is being shoved into my palms by a source I don't care about, and I take a sip dizzily. The lesson seems to be continuing as Kenny curls beside me on the floor with an arm around my shoulders as the world comes back to a regular level of function.

"Thanks Ken."

He nods, leaning against my shoulder. I offer him the orange juice and he steals an eager sip.

"Come over for dinner tonight."

He nods, seeming uncertain, and leans against my shoulder without question.

There's something terribly poetic about the weather today. I notice that on my way home some time later, with Kenny attached to my side and seeming as thrilled as I am. It's nice out; kind of a stir fry of seasons all in one go.

We stroll up to the front of my house, greeted by no cars in the driveway, and I'm vaguely reminded of when I was here with Stan under the same circumstances just a few days ago.

So little time has passed and yet it feels like months of dialogue have gone by that I've missed. So many important things. And now after what's happened, I'm trying to make sense of it all, let it fall into place with some bias from my own suspicions.

I can't help but wallow, it's just what happens to me under this kind of pressure.

Our book bags thud to the floor, and I stare at Kenny as he sits on the edge of my bed and watches me curiously. I take a moment to stare back, envying him. Envying how pretty he is, how good he is, how loyal he is. He could be chilling with Stan and having a neutral time, but he's here with me, while I mope and gloat. Maybe he's just in it for the food... but I kind of figure Cartman would be here, too, if that were the case.

So this is it. When I'm free of five hundred anxieties if I break up with Stan officially, I have six hundred more tumbling down on me, I guess. When I was younger, I'd say that cheaters were cheaters and that I'd never let one hook me like the people on television. I guess I really didn't know what love was at the time, because it's a lot harder than I thought it would be.

If he even wants me, that is.

"Kyle, you're zoning."

I glance up to find a hand in front of my face post the muffled interruption of my thoughts. I blink and swat at it before Kenny finally pulls away, staring at me with some level of concern as he shrugs out of his parka.

"Can I take a shower?" I nod and he looks at me, patting the top of my hat. "Don't worry, man. Everything will be okay."

I can't help but at least try to smile at this, and I watch him depart as he starts stripping off the first few layers, before casting my eyes away from my open bedroom door and curl up on my side in bed.

People seem to really hate me getting any kind of rest lately, because before I know it my phone's ringing. I pick up the phone to see the name bouncing through my head the last few days dancing across the display, and my throat tightens.

I panic. I stare around, as though I need to find an escape, even though I could easily just not pick up, but I feel like I have no other option some how. The phone clicks open and I pull it to my ear, curling up on my side nervously.

"Hello?"

"Kyle, look..."

We both go silent. I'm not sure if he's lost his nerve, or if he's forgotten what he wants to say. Maybe it's a bit of both. I sit quietly, trying to nibble at my nails, all that jazz. Looking like I don't care even though Stan's not even in my immediate company. Maybe my lack of confidence won't show through in my voice this way. I refuse to crack in front of him, just like I didn't a few days ago. Nope, turned to the bottle right away, and danced my way to my near-death for the rest of the night. So Kenny says, anyway. I don't remember a thing.

"I was really drunk."

"I'm aware."

"I'm really sorry."

It's my turn to go quiet and I sigh, turning over. "Can I get some answers?"

He doesn't say anything, and I take that as the go-ahead, even if it isn't. I'm expecting answers no matter what he says.

"Is this about me not throwing my dignity out the window for you?"

"No, it's about the alcohol."

"Stan, seriously. You remember what happened. I barely remember what happened. You had to have some kind of conscious as to what you were doing."

He falls silent again and I hold my dwindling strength. "Kyle. You're my super best friend. And I really liked the time we had but man, I'm just... I don't know. It was really abrupt. It was probably a mistake on my part."

"So I _was_ your rebound."

"No, I just mean..." I can practically hear him pinching the bridge of his nose. I kind of hope it starts to bleed. "I think I took my feelings in account of everything, over my sexuality. I enjoy it with you. I love you. But I just... I think about it. And I know you're not a submissive little bitch. And eventually you're gonna want to switch shit up and it freaks me out and-"

"- and you're a straight-assed jock that uses his best friends to test the waters before deciding women are more of your forte because you're a pussy who can't take it up the ass, and only gives it."

My flat tone seems to have put him in line. I feel more satisfied.

"I'm not a fucking pussy I just don't think a dick up my butt is gonna be good no matter how hard you like it."

Maybe not. I frown, sitting up on the opposite side of my bed and facing my window with my chin in my palm.

"Well, you're good at it."

"I just think we took shit too fast."

I sigh and press my face into my palms with my cell phone between my ear and shoulder. This is pissing me off so badly I'd rather be talking to Cartman about the holocaust. "You initiated it, Stan. You came into my room and fucked _me_."

"No, you fucker, we did it together. Dude, why are you always so self-absorbed? That was a mutual decision. If you'd said no, I would have stopped. If I'd said I wasn't gonna go that far, you would have stopped. We both decided with our lack of protest. Don't try and make it sound like I pressed myself on you!"

I'm silenced by this statement, though I'm still pissed off. Managing to hold my tongue, I take a few deep breathes through my nose.

"Why didn't you just dump me if you decided you were straight?"

"Kyle I was fucking drunk when I did Wendy! You know what I'm like. I wasn't thinking, dude, seriously."

I knit my hands through my hair in irritation. "Just tell me if you want to get back together or not."

He sighs and I fall back against my bed, seeing a half-nude figure behind me and nearly jumping out of my skin. Kenny's staring at me deer-eyed, obviously having been eavesdropping on this conversation for some time from behind me.

"Are you even listening?"

I snap back to my phone call. "Sorry, what?"

Another sigh. "I don't think it's a good idea right now. You're mad, and I'm confused. But dude, you still mean the world to me. Stop ignoring me at school."

"_You_ stop ignoring me at school!"

I can't help these outbursts. I really can't. My temper's getting the better of me and I'm half unsure as to why I'm even so mad. I take a long look at Kenny and then glance away, out the window. "I'm gonna go."

"We'll talk about this more personally tomorrow."

"Yeah, alright. Bye."

"Bye."

Kenny's on me before I even have time to snap my phone shut, and I flinch away from his wet form, pushing him off of my bed. "Dude, you're dripping."

"Sorry. Did you guys make up?"

I stare. "Did it sound like we made up?"

"I can only hear one side of the fucking conversation, dude. Stop jumping down my throat, it's not my fault."

I pull my legs up to my chest and sigh, lacing my fingers together with a slow vacancy. "Sorry, dude."

Kenny sits beside me. He's looking uncertain but puts an arm around me anyway. I don't even care if he sogs up my sheets anymore, because I lean into his hug and it's the best thing I've had all week.

"Things'll be alright, Ky. Don't worry. I know they're all crappy right now but they'll be okay." He sends my back a rub from our embrace and I shut my eyes agains his shoulder, before pulling back and looking at him.

I should have just tried to hook Kenny from the beginning.

Okay, stupid idea. But really. He has a deeper understanding of things, sometimes. Sure, he probably just wants to get into my pants because I'm the only one he hasn't nailed (except for maybe Cartman, I never asked. Never wanted to know). But really, we've got a totally different friendship than Stan and I have - had? Whatever.

I look at him with a bit more of a predatory stare than I intend, and he stares at me back with inquisitive risen eyebrows before it seems to click.

"No."

I frown and flop back. "Why not?"

"Because I'm not a sloppy rebound, Kyle. And you know I'm not that kind of guy. Relationships aren't my thing."

He slides off the bed and drops his towel and I turn my eyes away as he gets dressed and tugs a cigarette out of the ass pocket of his jeans. He opens the window and looks at me and I hand him a lighter, rolling onto me side with a sigh.

"Just give Stan some time, dude. He'll come around. You were both really trashed. Both times."

"Kenny. I really don't think this is going to just get better. I really, really think that he doesn't want to get back together."

I ignore the fact that I've just made a rhyme but his smirk tells me he's noticed and I roll my eyes as he smokes. I'd grab a cigarette myself but there's no way in hell I'm gonna be caught smoking in my own house. My mom would kill me. Twice. She knows Kenny smokes but she checks the smell of my clothes, my breath, every time just in case. She's so anal. Seriously.

He's sighing and watching birds fly by, and I wonder if he's died today, which concerns me. I know my house isn't a death trap but it's not like the smallest thing won't end his life. I give my room a once-over just in case, before looking back at him, kind of for anything. A click in my head brings an excuse to the surface as I hunt deeper for some reason.

"At the party. You said you loved me."

"Kyle, I may have been drunk, too, but I wasn't that drunk."

"Not that party, Ken. The other one. The one where you blew me."

He turns and stares at me, half-tapping his cigarette out my bedroom window. He seems to be thinking, but I'm not sure if he's trying to remember or if he knows. Kenny's a guy of many mysteries when it comes to his personal thoughts; a follower and less of a leader.

"Well, I do love you." He slips his cigarette back between his lips and hops up onto the window sill. I stare at his figure blacked out against the setting sun out my window and feel suddenly a lot better. "But it's different than you and Stan. You understand, yeah?"

His voice is half a statement more than an actual question. No, Kenny. No, I don't understand. I frown, knowing he probably won't explain to me anyway as I roll over in my bed. I hear him flick the cigarette out the window and pull it shut before he joins me, curling an arm around my waist. "Kyle, you're my best friend. I hold you higher than Stan or Cartman cause you've always been there for me and actually given a damn. You know that. But you're reeling out of control and letting shit get the better of you, dude. Just slow the fuck down and sniff the daisies. It's New Years Eve tomorrow. If the four of us aren't getting together like usual I'll come spend it with you normally."

How our New Years plans play into this I'm not sure but I understand. Sighing, I reach into my bedside table and pull out the envelope with the four hundred dollars still sealed inside, flipping it through my fingers thoughtfully. I still don't know what its purpose is, but it seems like a good time as any to use it. I don't celebrate Christmas but I don't need a holiday to practise the art of giving. I roll over to face Kenny in bed and smile a bit, holding it between us.

"Tonight we dine in hell, Kenny. Lets go hit up every buffet in town. On me. Okay?"

He stares at me in a moment, as though waiting for me to take it back, before cracking a smile and nodding with his wet blond hair sliding over his nose comically.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Surprise! It's an update. A crappy one, idk. I feel really terrible about this, mostly because it's so short and kind of unfulfilled after so long of waiting for you guys, so my sincerest apologies. I've just been really stumped with whether to pursue this further or leave it. But I prefer quality over quantity, so to prevent anything stupidly lengthy with no purpose I'm going to leave this chapter like this for now.**

**Anyway, I hope you like it. It leaves even me conflicted. I've had about five hundred different alternate ending ideas for this without actually coming up with an end. So I'm just going through this by instinct now.**

**On a side note, a shout to all my reviewers because your thorough critique has really kept me together throughout this fic. I really appreciate all of your guys' input, even if it's just a theory on what's going to happen next or hard-weighted criticism on my writing. I can't thank you all enough for your comments and I send out all of my love to you.**

**Enjoy. **

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The four of us congregate at the school's entrance as we normally do by an annual new years tradition. None of us really have said anything to eachother, we just kind of show up with an awkward uncertainty passing between us. The school is the best meeting place; we all know where it is, and as opposed to the gradeschool, the highschool is within a suitable walking or driving distance from each of our houses. It's become a yearly tradition to meet here before we decide what to do.

Our positions are mixed up. Typically we'd stand together but I find myself lingering closer to Kenny than Cartman or Stan this year. Stan just takes things in stride like he usually does and doesn't give any grief to the situation. Cartman is looking ready to ruin any silence we had.

"So where are we going this year, fags?"

The other two shrug and I kind of stand my ground, uncertain. Stan speaks up.

"We could go to my house again. My mom and dad are taking off to some New Years party with their friends in Denver and Shelley's off with her boyfriend in Chicago, so..."

We all nod in unison, but for the first time in my life I feel like a pussy.

I don't want to be here. I make that decision in my mind as we walk together in an uncharacteristic silence towards Stan's with a bitter taste in my mouth that tells me I'm going to have a lot of regrets. Kenny swings his hands over dramatically by his sides and I notice Stan has a stiffness to the way he walks at the opposite end of our line. Cartman has his usual swagger but his face his creased with irritation.

I stop and stuff my hands in my pockets. "I'm gonna go home."

"Oh for Christ's sakes Kahl, it's about time."

Both Stan and Kenny land a fist in each of Cartman's arms but he brushes them off like flies and continues. "No. I'm sick of this melodramatic 'boo-hoo Stan cheated on me with a girl because he has newfound common sense' bullshit. It's not right that Kahl has to be the one to break up our god damn little crew, let him separate and we can have our own New Year."

I can feel my jaw tightening, but Kenny and Stan are thinking too much for me to feel any kind of want to stick around longer. I lick my lips awkwardly before turning on my heel and starting to trudge in the opposite direction of my kind of not really super best friend's house, toward my own instead. Cartman's snapping with laughter in the background and I can hear boots pounding the ice up behind me. All of me knows that it's going to be Kenny but there's naturally that piece of me wishing it was Stan as I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I'm consulted with electric blue and blond instead of cerulean and black.

"Kyle, come on. Don't do this."

Kenny's frown is like a kick in the shins and I force my eyes away. "Cartman doesn't want me there. Stan probably doesn't want me there either. It's just awkward, Kenny. It's too early. I can't do this right now."

"Cartman never wants you there and that's never made a difference, dude! Stan... Stan would have said something if this was gonna be a problem."

"Stan doesn't have the balls to say anything to me, Kenny." He looks at me as I stare him down and he looks conflicted for a moment before sighing and staring over at his shoulder at the other two. I follow his gaze and Cartman's talking Stan's ear off. He looks out over the school yard with a troubled expression as he ignores whatever the fatass is saying, and I finally tear my eyes away as I lick my lips, refusing to pull a Clyde right now. I'll deal with this at home.

"Kenny, just go okay? I just want to spend this time alone."

He grips my arms a bit more tightly before turning, staring off down the street toward the other two. I gently start to tug away before he shoves me slightly and I stagger back, nearly tripping as he turns me around and guides me away from Stan and Eric with an arm snugly tagged around my waist.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: A big thing of this story for me is connectivity between characters, and, honestly, I hope you feel the same way. I'm not sure where things stand relationship-wise between anyone at the moment. I think I just need some fresh air cause damn do I feel polluted. So lets all kick back and take a juice break, okay? Okay.**

**Enjoy.**

----

_"Stan, look at the camera!"_

_"You sound like my dad, Kenny, fuck off."_

_"Kinneh's just excited about holding this advancement in technolojay, Stan. Don't hate on the redneck for being foreign to an object worth more than two dollars."_

_"Shut up, Cartman! Anyway, Stan, c'mon, stop playing and look at the camera for a sec."_

_Stan looks at the camera. He raises his eyebrows, looking unimpressed before unpausing Rock Band 2 and continuing his game. Cartman's on vocals and he's doing strikingly. I try to concentrate on my drumming._

_"Hey Stan. Stan! STAN!"_

_"Kenny shut the fuck up we're five starring this bitch and you're supposed to be taping it for YouTube!"_

_"Bun you guys, I'm gonna pack a bowl and ya'll better be sharing when you're done your stupid fucking game."_

_Kenny sits down on the couch and pulls out his kit, which is a beaten-up Hello Kitty pencil case that I'm guessing he stole. He packs some weed into his little pipe and starts to smoke. Cartman glares at him a bit before tilting his head back. "MAAAAAHM! MAHHHHM, TURN ON THE FAN KENNY'S SMOKIN' POT IN THE BASEMENT AGGIN!"_

_A "yes, honey" echos from upstairs. The game ends._

_"Dammit Kenny were you even recording us?"_

_"Weed comes before games, Stan."_

_"And your shit poor family wonders why you're so damn broke!" Cartman throws the gaming mic at the couch and then flops down as Kenny passes him the pipe. I sit and stare awkwardly before switching to a solo round, feeling a lot like a background character. Kenny glances up and then peers at the other two before kicking his feet up on the coffee table. "Hey, Kyle. Come smoke a bowl."_

_"I don't do drugs, Kenny."_

_Ken deadpans me and then stands up and plucks me off of my stool, dragging me to the couch and tossing me down onto it. I stare up at him and he thrusts the pipe at me. "Kyle, please. Weed is not a drug. It's a religion."_

_"And my religion is Jewish, not weed. Sorry."_

_"Aw Kahl stop bein' a bad Jew and take the goddamn pipe from Kinneh since he's givin' you free weed."_

_"Shut up, Cartman!"_

_Stan lounges back, exhaling smoke into my face. I start to tear up from the burn. Kenny shakes his head and nudges the mouth of the pipe to my lips, prying them apart as I look up at him unimpressed._

_"Kenny, I said no."_

_Kenny sighs and then sits down beside me, lighting himself a hit instead. "One day I'll hook you and you'll see the world in a much more looser way and you'll feel way better about yourself."_

_"And one day you'll get mono from kissing people through your pipe."_

_"And then he'll come back to life you stupid Jew faggot."_

_"Fuck off Cartman, I just don't think it's right, okay?"_

_Stan pauses. "Kenny, is that still on?"_

_All four of us glance at the camera. Kenny blankfaces as he leans in and laughs while Stan descends his face into his palm and I can hear myself laughing as I sling an arm around him with Cartman taking another long drag._

"I told you you'd see the light one day."

I glance at Kenny as he speaks with the camera paused on Kenny's fourteen year old hand extended to the camera. I dig my hand into our chip bag and give him a meaningful glance as he pulls out another tape from our box, glancing it over. "This one has no label. Reminds me of that one movie. We should watch it. Then in seven days I'll die from the creepy girl in the well if I don't die before then."

I frown, knowing exactly the film in which he's referring. "But then I'll die, too, and you'll have to wake up to my body with my face all fucked up and melted, dude."

"Yeah, I guess that would be kind of a downer. Well, then we'll do what they did in the sequel and you can pass it on to Cartman."

"Who're you gonna pass it on to, though?" I take another chip from the bag. He tilts his head and then shrugs.

"Maybe I can pass it on to Cartman, too. Then he'll double die." He pauses and then breaks into some kind of maniacal laughter that causes me to stare a bit with my chip half way to my face. He takes a few heavy inhales before he catches his breath and leans back on my couch, kicking his feet up on my coffee table similar to the fashion he had in Cartman's basement in the video only five minutes earlier, and I get a strange sense of nostalgia as I lean my head in my palm and smile a bit. Kenny pauses as he flips the tape in his palms, and then looks at me seriously.

"What would you do if you knew you were gonna die in seven days?"

I stare at him for a long time before I lean back a bit to think as he stuffs his face with chips, likely the first and last thing he'll eat all day. I'll just buy him dinner. I hate it when he doesn't eat right, and he's starting to lose the pounds he was gaining from the lunches he was getting before winter break.

"Kenny, I honestly don't know. Probably try to find a cure."

"There's no cure in a theoretical question, Kyle, stop being so commonsensical."

I give him a look, wondering myself if that's even a phrase before shrugging and toying with an off stitch in my jeans. "Probably hang out with you. Try to make better amends with Stan. Write a will. Try to spend time with Ike... you know. Sensible things. There's nothing huge that I could do I think that would make my life more worth it than my family and friends, I think."

Kenny nods. "You know what I'd do?"

I blink, wondering if this was a trick question, before simply shaking my head. "No. What would you do, Kenny?"

"I would nail every girl in school."

He folds his arms behind his head as I stare and gawk. "Haven't you already?"

He tilts his head a moment before shaking his head. "No. There is quite a sum, actually. I think I've only had sex with like..." He counts on his fingers and it strikes me as very cute in that moment. "Like, eighteen people at our school. Out of all four grades, and not just girls."

I fold my arms over my knees, stealing the unlabelled tape from his lap and staring at it. "That's a lot of people."

"To someone who's had sex with one person, yes, Kyle, that would be a lot of people." He smirks at me and I give him a dirty look before sitting up and walking back to the old-as-hell VCR that has eaten most of Ike's old Disney tapes over the years by mistake and eject 'Rock Band Videos', sticking this one in instead. I press play and then sink back beside Kenny. He huddles against me with high expectations of a horror film. Instead a ten year old me pops up on the screen with my crooked green ushanka slapped on my head.

_Kenny pops up behind me and then looks in closer, blinking with a huge blue eye into the lens before picking it up again and looking back at me, still beside him. We stare at eachother a moment and then glance over our shoulder at Stan, who's puking over the side of his bed into the trash bin. I walk over to Stan and then sit on the bed beside him as Kenny looks things over. His lips move but the film is silent as he glances over his shoulder. I glance up and mouth back wordlessly. Stan looks up and then holds his head, picking up a package of Warheads off of his bedside table and staring at it like it was Satan itself at his palm. Kenny takes the hard candies and then sits on the floor beside the trash can, dumping the singular packaged treats onto the floor and licking his lips._

_I root him on as Stan makes another face, looking green. Kenny starts unwrapping and tossing Warheads into his mouth like a champ. I continue to cheer him on as he starts to gag and choke from the sourness but he keeps going. Abruptly he starts to choke and I visibly panic, beating him on the back as he heaves into the garbage can, spluttering Warheads everywhere while Stan rolls over on his side with laughter from his bed._

_Kenny sits up again, looking dazed and pale. I look at him with worry and shake his shoulder. He stares at me and we converse briefly, his focus seeming to be wiping his tongue off with Stan's bed sheets. Stan notices and smacks his hand away. I shout something at Stan. He yells back. A moment later the three of us are rolling across the floor throwing kicks and punches. There's a sudden whirl and spiral and then static before the camera views our situation from it's side on the carpeted floor. Kenny's ankle is tangled in the wire of Stan's lamp and Stan unplugs it from the wall before we untie him as he lays holding his head from it's brief impact with what appears to be Stan's bedside table. He moves to slide his ankle out of the wire as I stand up and move the lamp to the floor and start to wander the room. Kenny looks up and speaks to me._

"Kyle what're you doing?"

"I'm death proofing Stan's room so you don't die."

Kenny tears his eyes away from the screen as we dub in the exact words we're saying on screen. I look back at him and grin a bit as I watch myself arrange books so that they lay flat and even go so far as to take Stan's crucifix off the wall and stick it in his drawer. I start to laugh slowly and a moment later Kenny's joining me. We probably look so stupid and I'm so glad that my folks aren't home. Kenny looks thoughtful after our laughter wavers and we watch me take my round filling my mouth with Warheads and spittling onto Stan's floor in disgust.

"One time we should video tape ourselves watching videos. And then videotape ourselves watching those videos of us watching that video. And then just keep going. And then when someone watches that tape, their head will be so spun."

Kenny leans back, licking his lips free of salt and tossing the empty chip bag into the bin by the couch. I tilt my head and then shrug, reaching for my Diet Pepsi and taking a drink. I pause as I notice Kenny watching from the corner of my eye and glance at him, then at my bottle, and offer it out. He shakes his head and I shrug.

"Kyle, just put it down."

I glance at him again to ask for a meaning but we're pressing lips instead. I slide mine apart, self-conscious and self-aware of the fact that I probably taste like carbonation but he tastes like potato chips so I guess we're even. Setting my bottle down behind me as I pull him by the front of his wifebeater, he throws his arms around my waist and drag's me closer, and this is when I pull away.

"Kenny what the fuck are you doing?"

"I'm giving us a show for next time. I think that in every video, the mood should increase a little more. Like, it starts with us kissing. Then next time, maybe I can strip. And then in the next one you can take your clothes off, too, and then in the next one-"

"Kenny, we're not making a porno. I'm sorry."

"Kyle Broflovski: Ruiner of Dreams. Actually, you could make a great book out of that title, Kyle. It should be the title of your biography."

I roll my eyes and stand up, clicking off the VCR and ejecting the tape, tossing it back into the box. I stand there staring into the collection a moment before sitting back down on the couch and staring at Kenny. He looks back at me before glancing around, like someone being looked at by a stranger in a crowd wondering if they're looking at someone else. He peers back at me a moment later from under his dishevelled blond bangs and I muss them up a bit before pulling him into a hug. He accepts it and hugs me back, rubbing my back uncertainly before turning to talk into my neck.

"What're you thinking?"

I tilt my head a little, unwilling to break our embrace just yet. There's no one here to shoot any gay comments, and it doesn't matter to me anyway. I'll hug Kenny as long as I damn well feel like.

"What would you really do if you were gonna die for the last time in a week?"

He falls quiet, seeming pensive. For a moment I wonder if he's fallen asleep, but his arms descend around my waist again and he snuggles against me a bit. I glance into his blond mop a moment before leaning my cheek on his head. Maybe he's just not going to answer at all. He seems to like doing that to me.

"This, I think. Just this."

I shut my eyes and hug him tighter. He returns the squeeze and we finally break apart, falling to the opposite ends of the couch with our feet mixing in the middle. We stare at eachother for a long time.

"Questions, back and forth." He nods at me as he speaks. This game never gets old. It doesn't matter how long you've been friends with someone, there's always something else you'll want to know. "You go first."

I tilt my head before folding my hands behind my head. "Why don't you date people?"

"'Cause I think it's unfair. I die like, every day. It's just unreasonable for someone to have to live with someone who dies a lot." He digs around in his pockets before retrieving a cigarette and pressing it between his lips, even though he doesn't dare light it in my livingroom. "If you had to sleep with one girl because you HAD to or you'd like, die or something, who would it be?"

I blink a bit awkwardly at that question, and he laughs around his cigarette at what I assume to be my expression. "I don't know. One without an STD. If you could kill one person, who would it be?"

"Oh shit, only one? That's gonna take some time."

"Well if you have a list, go ahead."

Kenny pulls out the numbering his fingers again and I allow myself to smile this time. "My dad, old guys in general, I guess. I hate 'em. Bono. Britney Spears, the Goth Kids-"

"Kenny what the fuck. You have to explain these people, that is the most random fucking list you've ever given me."

He sighs a bit and backtracks. "My dad should be obvious. Old guys are gross. Bono is a scammer - notice how he only does charity work for U2 right before they release an album? And Britney Spears and the Goth Kids I just kind of want to put out of their misery. I also might kill Cartman, whether to put him out of his misery or to put me out of mine I'm not sure. I dunno, the list just kind of accumulates. I'd need a day to make you a full one."

I frown. "You hate more people than I thought you did."

He shrugs and then stares me down. I shift uncomfortably before I realize he's thinking about his question and relax a bit, reclining against the couch arm once more. "If I was gonna die for good in seven days, what would you do?"

I stare at him for a long time, before glancing down at my knees. My memories backtrack to when he was diagnosed with muscular dystrophy. I smile a bit faintly but it's unhappy. His own curious expression drops as I laugh nervously through a tear and shake my head, glancing around my house and wondering if life would be worth living without the few friends I have, or had. I dwell on this thought and it's only further upsetting. I'm not usually this weak but maybe it's just the topic of conversation.

I lift my head and wipe my loose tears hastily as he stares on uncertainly, but not in a judgmental way.

"This, I think. Just this."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Hey. It's me. With your last chapter. Yep, I give. I don't know what to make of this. There will be an epilogue (eventually) but as it is I'm leaving things at this. I'm sorry if it seems rushed (it was). I can't finish stories well it seems, so I apologize again. (Gripe more, Tweek, noooo one cares.)**

**Enjoy. (I hope.)**

* * *

Valentines day always gives me a sense of nostalgia - always. This year it's accompanied by an underlying feeling of regret.

I'm pretty sure you can guess why.

Guess, but you'd be wrong, because the last place I expected to be was arm in arm with Butters in a night club, far out of South Park and in the heart of Denver.

The place is called Church - totally ironic from my perspective, considering I'm Jewish and the venue itself is actually a legitimate Church. Butters, in some kind of crazy drag attire that could put most girls to shame, just smiles and walks in with me like no-one's business, the bass pounding with couples bumping and grinding like no tomorrow.

"Just lighten up a bit, Kyle. Golly, it's been like, two months. At least you're talking again, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so." I don't confide in good old Marjorine that Stan and my talks are brief and awkward, but the bottle of sunshine is at least right in that aspect - we _are _talking, and that's a major plus.

"Cheer up, Ducky. Don't get yourself all worked up and just have a spot of fun." Pip pipes up from alongside Butters and I give him a faint smile, wondering if I perhaps should have just stayed home. Some other tall girl is also in our company but I can't remember her name and I don't really care, either, because she's pretty obnoxious.

I'm so irritable. I feel like a loser, but next to the no-one I have at the moment with Kenny off doing God knows what for the evening, these three are all I've got.

Some offbeat remix of a Lady Gaga song starts to play and I slide my face against my palms, settling for going to pick up a diet Coke from the bar and leaving my company to bump hips together in the crowd. Hearing Cartman wail a sad impression of this woman's voice has turned me off of her completely. I just want silence.

"A teepeekal misfortune on ze day of sheet, oui?"

The guy beside me glances me over and I stare. He's gruff looking - actually, he's so out of place looking that it almost has me sceptical. Rough good looks (in my opinion) with unkept short-cropped brown hair and bags under the eyes. He's got a cigarette behind his ear and combat boots with cargo pants and a t-shirt with an oil stain. I realize I'm staring and nod slightly.

"Are, uh... why're you here?"

He looks at me, raising a fingerless-gloved hand and pinching his cigarette from behind his ear. "Why eez anyone 'ere?"

There's something about this cycle that's familiar already. I stick my tongue to the corner of my mouth in thought and then my eyebrows shoot up.

"... Mole?"

"About time." He sucks his teeth and mutters something in French that I don't understand. "Zeez music eez earsplitting. Zeez job eez not wairz zeez torture."

What the fuck is he saying? I nod, choosing not to ask. You don't fuck with Ze Mole.

"What are you doing back in America? I haven't seen you since that one time."

Christophe glances at me again and then takes some obscure drink off of the counter and sips it. I'm not even sure if it's his, but again, no questions asked.

"Work. As always." He licks his lips free of the beverage he just sampled before setting it back down on the counter and leaving it to its own abandon. A girl saunters up soon after, some pretty blond looking to be some kind of rising celebrity, possibly. I don't keep track of that stuff, but she hangs off of the mercenary with batting eyelashes that almost makes me wonder how anyone tolerates girls at all.

"Chris, come dance with me. You're my escort, you have to stay close!" The blatant flirting has me kind of miffed, but Christophe wiggles his eyebrows at me and lets her drag him off. Even the god damn mercenary is getting more than me. Fuck Valentine's Day.

My time being a miserable single moves on. I'm not even feeling like doing anything. Dancing has never been my thing - not publicly. And not because Jews don't have rhythm, I just have some dignity.

"Hey cutie, what're you offering?"

"Well I can give you whatever you want..."

"Happy Valentines dayyy..."

Voices bounce through the bar as I slowly vampire at my diet Cola. Pip waves at me from his spot on the dance floor and I wiggle my fingers back just to be polite.

"I dunno, how old are you?"

"Who cares. It's not much, and it's worth it, I promise."

My eyes scan around for something. Anything.

"You're a pretty little thing, ain't'cha?"

"Yeah, I know. So are you down?"

My eyes finally turn to judge the occupants of the bar counter that I'm sitting at. A man in a suit is wooing the waitress - or trying, as she smiles and nods, used to drunken advances. Another guy has a pretty blond in his lap and is caressing their side, kissing their neck. Some taller man has taken Christophe's spot on the stool beside me and is slamming back shots like no one's business. My eyes flicker back to the couple a few seats down.

"I can do anything."

"Anything, huh?"

"Yeah. Anything."

I cast my eyes away after a moment, feeling invasive. Blondie's hair's up in clips straddling the guy and I'm wondering if I should leave before things get too public for me.

"You could even kill me if you wanted to. But that'll cost you extra."

I stiffen and stand up, feeling nauseous - whether it's because of the realization setting in, what's going on, or that I'm here to witness it, I'm not sure. I slide my hands down my face, willing myself to walk away, but feeling myself frozen in place. I can't do this. This isn't real. This can't be fucking real. I got slipped some date rape and I'm passed out on the bar counter.

I glance up at the smacking of lips and find myself staring into Kenny's face, acknowledging his horrified expression as the man kisses his neck and shoulders. I can feel my distress shining through, fuck, there's no hiding it now. Before I know it my hand's around his wrist, pulling him toward me and out of this bozo's arms, clocking the guy in the face without holding back.

The guy turns on me and I seethe at him. "You fucking sick freak." The guy stares and then glares, looking between me and my best friend. Before he can blame Kenny, I grab the blond's face a bit roughly and shake him as I lie through my teeth. "He's obviously not sober. Go burn in hell."

And I'm dragging him through bodies. I feel like I'm swimming. The music is just background noise by this point and I don't look to see Kenny's expression as I drag him out into one of the solitary halls of the Church, only letting him go when we're alone.

Things are slowly sinking in, logic bringing recent happenings together. I turn and stare at him, and he looked terrified. Good, he should be.

"Kenny... Kenny, are you fucking _nuts_?"

He stares at me still with those deer eyes, and I cup my cheeks, starting to pace. I can hear him shifting uncomfortably against his wall, nervous.

"Kyle, look. Kyle, I can explain."

"Kenny, there's nothing to fucking _explain_! You've been fucking _selling yourself on the streets_?"

He falls silent. I don't even know how to feel, shaking my head. "Kenny, I know you have no conscience for yourself because you die and come back all of the time but this is sick! What the fuck are ... I can't even..." I shake my head more as he grabs my hands.

"Kyle just listen. My brother's out, you know that. He left. My sister has to eat and my dad's booze money doesn't cover that, alright? I've been trying to get a real job - I really have - but I'm running low on resumes and no one seems to want me. I need to print more off at your house actually, but... please, Kyle, don't be mad."

I stare at him and take a breath, shaking my head. "This is why you got raped, isn't it?"

A dead silence falls from him in shock and I know I've hit a nerve. I can feel my expression hardening and I shake my head. "You knew. You knew this whole time who it was."

He shakes his head tightly, and my stomach starts to sink as his grip loosens. "I still don't know who it was. He knocked me out and left. But you're right. This is why."

He slides down into a ball against the wall on the floor. I feel terrible. Trying to calm down, I stare up and down the hall for wanderers, the bass something low in the background. We probably aren't even supposed to be out here. For once, I don't care.

I can feel my fists loosening as he starts to cry and I'm feeling slowly more and more terrible as he shakes his head. "You think I asked for this? What the fuck, Kyle! If I had any other choices I'd take it! You guys think every little irrational thing I do is because I don't care! For highest grade average you're pretty fucking retarded!"

It stings, it really does, and as he cries in front of me for the second time within the last three months, I can feel a hole forming as I realize how much I take for granted.

"Jobs are dry in our town and I don't have the money to travel every day to something solid out of town. This is my on and off alternative because it pays a lot in short amounts of time. If you've got a better idea, please, share it with me!" He stares up a me from his spot on the floor and I take a step back, throat tight. I don't think I've ever seen him so angry. "Well? Share it!"

I search the air for answers and nothing comes to me. I don't know how to deal with this. I was brought up with a perfect well-off family. I'm not any better than a shit-faced smalltown celebrity at my present status, except that my friend circle is slowly shrinking and the person I'm presently closest to is suffering beyond personal repair. My parents won't do anything. I don't know what to do. Kenny's family has been useless from the beginning.

I open my mouth to apologize and then close it, hugging myself around the waist. I would more gladly sell myself on the streets than watch my best friend cry because he doesn't have a choice. I look for rationality, which is the only thing I'm good for.

"Kenny, I'm sorry. You're right, and I'm so sorry..." I press my palms to my eyes and take a bigger breath. Social services never did shit to help anybody. I crouch down and pull him into a hug. "Kenny, listen. I know you hate taking shit from people but please, just stop doing this. I swear to god, I'll help you get a real job. You can sleep over anytime like you always have, you can bring your sister and I swear, I'll feed her too, just please. Stop this. I'll even pay for your bus fare."

He shakes his head slowly, out of more thought than rejection, it seems at first, before he shrugs away a little, head shaking with more determination. "Kyle, I can't."

"Kenny." I take him seriously by the shoulders and stare him down. "Kenny, you don't have a fucking choice. I'm sorry that your family is living in poverty. That's not fair. But Kenny, fuck. [i]This[/i]... this isn't the answer! There are offices and things you can go to. Employment offices. All kinds of things. You can come over and we can look online," I say shakily. "Just please, fuck. Don't do this to yourself. I don't ever want you to come running through my window like that one time ever again. Do you know how much you scared me?"

He glances up, and I can tell he's indecisive. I'm wondering how he afforded to get into this club in the first place and look him over, as though for some evidence that he's already made some money that night, but I decide not to ask. Dragging him up off of the floor, I hold his hand tightly and glance him up and down one more time.

"I know you feel imposing but fuck, just stop." I take his other hand and give them both a squeeze as he sighs. "It's nothing to be embarrassed about, it's not your fault. Please, just let me help you. Stop doing this to yourself."

He stares at me and nods slightly, a trace of a smile touching his face as a few tears leak out again. He wipes his cheeks with the backs of his wrists and tries to pull himself together. This is the Kenny I feel that I know. I can still see the traces of uncertainty and guilt in his person but I shake my head slightly, dragging him back to the dance floor. Marjorine glances up half way through grinding some guy and smiles, waving. Kenny glances at me. I shrug to dignify myself as Butters wanders over, waving at Kenny.

"Well gee, hey Kenny! Fancy seeing you here." Kenny smiled kind of tightly. He and Butters have kind of been in a broken-glass standstill of a not-really friendship since he made Butters for the most part blind in one eye when we were kids. This doesn't stop Marjorine though; he's an air of confidence in a dress. Almost a different person. Makes me wonder what would have happened if we hadn't dressed him up that one time in fourth grade. Would he ever have found himself - _herself _at all?

Pip shows up with no-name girl a moment later and Kenny glances at me, almost looking confused, before shrugging off whatever his floating thought was. My assumption was 'why are you hanging with these guys?'. Not in a standard way of disapproval. Kenny doesn't talk shit about people because he considers himself further down on the social foodchain, being broke; but these are not the social class I would normally hang out with.

I think he's forgetting that my friends are dwindling in numbers right now, if that was even his thought at all.

I should probably update my life's status.

Kyle Broflovski. Age? Seventeen - eighteen in May. Living in the middle of Buttfuck and No Where on a big mountain in a hick town where the teenagers dwell in the most illegal things they can think of because there's absolutely nothing else to do. Has a 1:30am curfew on weekdays to study. No balls when it comes to mom and a frying pan.

Yeah. That's me.

The rest of the night goes well from an outside perspective but I'm still feeling down. I try to push things from my mind but that doesn't help me. I back down at about two to head home. Kenny is naturally at my side.

The bus ride is tiring and we put a newspaper between us to keep us awake.

"You're an Aries, right?"

Kenny nods at me in response and I glance at his long expired horoscope of three days. "On Wednesday, your horoscope was: _Thoughtful actions produce positive results. In planning ahead for possible consequences, you help to minimize potential conflicts. Capable of anticipating a next move, you are skillful in games you play and in the contacts you make. You tend to know what you want, and communicating your intentions is easier now; others are clear on where you stand. Stimulated by what is said or what you think, you eagerly seek answers-and find them_."

Kenny stares at me and I smile halfly. "You're working hard. You're trying not to cause trouble. You know what you want so talking about it is easier-"

"- And I'm eagerly seeking answers and finding them."

"Yeah, pretty much," I nod, kicking my feet up over the back of the seat in front of us. He captures a pensive look before darting his eyes toward me and trying to sneak a peek over the paper. "What's your's say, Mister Gemini?"

I find my sign on the sheet and sigh. "_You like to connect with people today-and to talk about others. With a tendency for teasing, you are playful and interested in playing games. Should others criticize you, however, you may not respond, in order to maintain harmony. Convey your happiness, or unhappiness, and you likely will feel better. Unwanted communications can intrude on your peace and quiet. Too many things to do can mean too many appealing choices._"

I adapt his thoughtful look and then he glances at me after re-reading my Wednesday's horoscope on his own. "Dude, I don't even remember what the fuck I did on Wednesday."

We laugh from sleep-deprived stupidity the whole way home.

* * *

**Afternote: Yep. You heard it. That's it, albeit the epilogue which will be around eventually. I'm sorry this ended so flatly. I don't know what to do with this anymore. Side credit, "The Church" is a real place in Denver, I did some research on it. Also, I nabbed those random horoscopes from a site called evolvingdoor. Thanks for tuning in.**


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